


Dirty, Pretty Thing

by kissmelikeapirate



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-09-11
Packaged: 2018-01-09 05:03:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 49,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kissmelikeapirate/pseuds/kissmelikeapirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU<br/>Emma Swan wants to escape her life, move East, start new. Working at The Velvet Rope is her ticket out of here. But then he comes along, mysterious, sexy, dangerous. Surely she can resist his charms?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tease

_**Thanks to my wonderful beta (and recent Captain Swan convert!) Ztofan!** _

The bright fluorescent bulbs that lined the mirror cast a harsh, bluish glow over her face as she applied a layer of deep crimson lipstick. Her eyes were heavy; sagging with tiredness as she moved into her sixteenth hour of consciousness - knowing that it would be at least another ten before she could crawl back into her bed.

Searching through her make up bag, she selected a metallic tube of concealor and began to apply it in short, quick strokes, masking the dark shadows beneath her eyes, until she was satisfied with the camouflage. She pulled the belt of her silk robe tighter around her waist, its soft fabric slipping over her bare skin, emphasising her lack of clothes beneath.

Tonight was going to be quiet, she already knew that. The weekends after New Year always were. The frivolity of the holiday season now being over meant the meagre handful of regulars that hung around the stage and slipped dollar bills into your thong weren't often supplemented by the more high rolling kind of client. But she needed money and wasn't about to put off her plans for yet another month, so here she was, trying her luck.

Tonight she had chosen her most successful outfit - a flame red thong bikini covered by a sheer black slip dress that barely touched her thighs. Simple, but effective. It complimented her soft golden skin and blonde hair. Combined with black thigh highs and towering red heels, it was her lucky outfit - had paid for itself a hundred times over. She crossed her fingers that she would land at least a few good tippers tonight. Enough to make the lack of sleep worth her while.

A few more weeks, she told herself, a month - tops. Then she would have saved enough. Then she'd be able to quit this job. All her jobs. Leave this damn city and all the painful memories behind.

"Hey Roxy."

She looked up then smiled when she saw Emilio, one of The Velvet Rope's security guys, grinning at her, "Hey Emilio. How's tricks?" She pushed her feet into her shoes as he approached, wincing slightly as her toes were squeezed together; mentally preparing herself for the cramp that would cripple the balls of her feet tomorrow.

"Okay," he shrugged, "Still waiting for this blonde babe to come to her senses and go on a date with me though."

Reaching up, she pinched his rounded cheek gently, "You know you're too good for me."

"You always say that Rox, but you seem pretty great to me."

She pursed her lips as she looked up at the tall, burly man, dressed in the obligatory black shirt and pants that let him melt into the background and easily eject the customers who got too handsy.

He was a good man. Kind. Reliable. Exactly the kind of guy she was bad news for.

Instead of replying, she just gave him a small wink and walked towards the black door that led into the bar, slipping off her robe and hanging it on the row of small silver hooks to the left of the entrance, before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

* * *

It was a slow night.

Tired, she gently swayed her hips to the music as she surveyed the room. She was standing at the bar, sipping on an iced Red Bull, willing the caffeine into her system as she waited. It was, as she expected, very quiet. Half a dozen drunks sat on the stools that lined the stage, heckling the dancers as they worked the pole. A scattered handful of other customers occupied the darkened booths around the edges: a few guys in suits who were clearly in town on business - nervously playing with their wedding bands, a small bachelor party - young looking - being entertained by a well endowed redhead and a petite brunette alongside the usual mix of loners and quiet ones who sat on their own, drowning their sorrows in liquor and keeping to themselves. Knocking back her drink, she was just about to give up and give in to her tiredness when she spotted him, sitting back in a large, circular booth in the furthest corner of the room.

The man was almost invisible against the leather seat, dressed as he was in head to toe black. He was barely illuminated by the down lighters that spread lazy beams of light down mottled purple walls. In his hand he held a heavy bottomed tumbler of something dark and dirty looking, the kind of drink that said I don't mess around. But he looked out of place. His dark hair was too carefully tousled as it slipped over his eye. His tailored shirt and vest too well cut; too carefully chosen.

He was looking at her. Staring actually. Even through the dark she could feel his steely gaze rake over her form unflinchingly. Almost as if he could see beneath all the layers and barriers she wrapped around herself. She shivered as she returned her glass to the bar.

"You gonna go over?" asked the woman behind the bar. Emma didn't didn't recognize her. It seemed like there was someone new around there every week. "He's been watching you for about twenty minutes."

Sighing, she rolled her shoulders and sucked in a deep breath - pulling in her stomach, straightening her back and relaxing her hips. "May as well," she muttered under her breath before she began to walk over to the booth, keeping her eyes locked on him as she walked. All the time conscious of the way he watched her hips sway and allowing her hair to fall over her shoulder and skim the exposed skin of her chest. Finally a few feet away from him, she bit her lip and sunk her hand onto her hip. "You looking for some company?"

He looked up but didn't say anything. Up close she could see he was handsome. Beautiful even - if you could apply that word to men. A strong jaw, pale blue eyes and the kind of lips that made you want to feel them against yours. The kind of guy who was trouble, in her experience.

"And what kind of company are you offering?" he asked, a glint to his eye as he spoke that made her hold back a smile.

Placing her hand on the table between them, she leaned forward, knowing he had a good view of her cleavage as she licked her lips. "That's up for negotiation," she replied, the pleasant caffeine buzz starting to thread through her as the peak of adrenaline of the chase kicked in at the same time.

"Hmm," he replied, pulling the glass to his lips as he watched her. Not blinking. Barely moving. Jutting out his chin a little as he slowly sank back the dark liquid, his Adam's apple dipping slowly.

She paused; her breathing slowing as she wondered what he was thinking. He was certainly not the usual kind of guy she dealt with. Most clients pretty straight up with what they wanted - brutally so. But he was something else altogether. Playing with her. Still waters run deep style. "Perhaps we could start with a drink?" he asked, gesturing to the seat beside him.

It was only then she noticed his accent. English. Soft. Pretty damn sexy.

He was definitely out of place in this joint, she thought.

She ran her finger over her lip, shrugging her shoulder to her ear as she leant forward,

"Champagne?" she asked.

"As you wish," he replied, raising his hand for a waitress as she slid into the booth beside him.

* * *

"So what's your name?" he asked as he poured two glasses of Verve Clicquot; the iced bottle covered in condensation that dripped lazily on the table before he returned it to the large, silver cooling bucket.

"Roxy," she replied, taking a sip - enjoying the way the bubbles danced on her tongue and fizzed down her throat.

He raised an eyebrow, "Roxy?" his voice disbelieving.

"Yeah."

"Well, 'Roxy', what's a girl like you doing working in a place like this?" He leaned back as he asked his question, stretching out his long legs under the table and folding his arms. She noticed the way his biceps strained against the cotton of his shirt and the hint of hair that his undone buttons exposed.

"And what would you know about me?" she replied, taking another sip as she allowed her flirtatious side to take over, trying to forget she was barely clothed in a semi-lit booth with a virtual stranger. Trying to forget this was how she lived her life, at least for a few days a week.

"Hmm," he muttered, running his thumb along his stubbled jaw. Her eyes flashed to his hand. No ring. Well, at least not one he was wearing. "You see this as a temporary thing - a means to an end. Yet you can't seem to get away. You live alone. Have for a long time. You like the kind of work that keeps people at arms length."

Her jaw dropped a little at his words. How had he read her like a book after a few minutes acquaintance and barely half a dozen sentences of conversation? Slightly flustered, she shifted in her seat - "Why do you say that?"

"I'm just someone who recognizes a kindred soul."

A few quiet seconds passed by. Quiet yet strangely comfortable. She ran her finger over the rim of her glass. It hummed quietly, the vibrations riding up her finger as she tried to work him out. The music shifted from an mid tempo dance number into something slower and more sensual. She felt her mood change; the need to alter the nature of their discourse consuming her as his words touched a raw nerve.

"So what's the deal with the accent then?"

A wave of cool relief sank over her as she saw a smirk appear on his face. Damn it was annoying. But hell it was sexy. She mentally chastised herself. No wonder you never meet the right guy, always finding these cocky shits attractive.

"I'm from England originally. But now I'm more a man of the world, as they say."

"Oh do they?" she asked, more confused now by his cryptic answer. "Well, 'man of the world', how about a dance?" she suggested, combing her hair back behind her ear and lowering her lids to give him her best seductive look.

His eyes dipped over her again. She felt incredibly conscious of the way they skimmed over her bare flesh. Normally she didn't care about they way the customers leered over her - she could take the gawking and groping of any guy. But something was different with him. It was like he looked beneath her skin, through the flesh to something inside. It unnerved her.

"Here?" he asked, titling his head a little, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"$20 here. $50 somewhere more… Private." Her lips caressed each syllable of the word, rolling her tongue around them.

She watched as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a folded note and placing it between his fingers and passing it to her.

Glancing down, she smiled. Tucking the bill into the hip of her thong she smiled, "Private it is."

* * *

In the velvet lined room the music was much softer; absorbed into the soft furnishings, cultivating it into a dull, mellow tone.

Hand on his shoulder, she pressed him into the couch. He sank down obediently, eyes still dancing with unspoken thoughts. With her leg, she nudged his knees apart and stepped between them; lazily starting to roll her hips from side to side whilst sliding her palms down the curve of her waist to her thighs.

She glanced over his body as she peeled away her skimpy dress, registering his slim yet strong build; noticing his large hands that would feel so good sinking into her skin and the scruff that covered his lower face, tainting him with a dangerous, sexy edge that appealed to attraction to the kind of men who wore that look like a badge of honor.

"So you in town for long, 'man of the world'?" she asked as sank closer to the ground, pulsing her pelvis forward as she let her knees become lose.

"A few days."

His answer was brief and perfunctory. His eyes occupied by the taught skin of her waist as her hips snaked from side to side in time with the lazy beat.

Shifting so one knee was resting on the seat beside him, she leant forward, her hand pressing into the soft upholstery to his right until her face was inches from his. Slowly, she began to roll her body towards him. She could see his eyes dilating, the dim light no match for his clear blue eyes, the dark navy edge of his iris making his gaze all the more piercing. Pushing up, she lifted her chest higher.

"Business or pleasure?"

And he looked up and met her eyes. In a moment so serious and cool - so seemingly unaffected.

"Both," he replied before hesitating and adding, "Perhaps."

Twisting around, she flipped her head over one shoulder, giving him a view of her almost naked back, bucking her hips back into him. She could hear his breath tighten - straining in and out as she writhed into him, rocking herself until their thighs almost touched before spinning around and returning her knee to its previous position. Allowing herself a small smile of triumph as she saw the way his eyes had narrowed and his hand was resting on his hip as it rocked slightly to the beat.

The music began to thicken, the bass sinking into her skin, making it buzz. Rolling back her head, she combed her fingers through her hair, allowing him full view of her body - the curve of her hip and the taught stomach she had sweated in the gym for - before swinging her other leg over his so she was now straddling him, hovering six inches above his hips. Close enough to feel the heat his body broadcast.

She looked again into his soft blue eyes; almost finding herself drowning in them - so hypnotic was their expression. It was unreadable. Enigmatic. Addictive.

Feeling the beat sway through her, she began to grind down into his lap, circling her hips and pushing up her hair with her hands - her eyes slipping closed as she lost herself in the bass whilst trying to forget the handsome client who so intrigued her. Trying to focus on why she was doing this - the end game.

Then something brushed her lip and she started. It was his thumb. Whipping her head backwards she whispered, "No touching." In response, he lay back - his body slipping down a little. His mouth was slightly open. She could see a glint of white teeth and a flash of moist, pink tongue as it ran over them. Her mind flickered - imagining what that tongue could do…

Her hands began to wander over her skin. Caressing her breasts, dipping into the thin material of her panties, slipping into her mouth and sliding over her lip. He kept his gaze steadfast. Face unflinching. Eyes speaking a thousand words that the rest of his visage did not.

She reached up to her neck and twisted the clasp at her nape that held up the front of her bikini top. The material instantly sagged at the release, peeling down over her chest, stopping just short of the pink skin of her nipples.

"Hm," he laughed, his lips curving.

"Something funny?" she asked as she arched her back closer to his face. She could feel his soft breathing on her skin now. It was warm but laced with something more - something slightly electric that made her catch her breath.

"Not at all love."

Choosing to ignore his curious behaviour, she released the last clasp that held up the thin scrap of material covering her modesty.

Tuning into the music, she sighed - she knew the track only had a minute or so. The air seemed to sink from him when her breasts slipped free - pooling in soft, firm curves that jutted forward - so close to his face. She smiled wryly - they're all the same. A show of flesh and they are putty in your hands. But she couldn't deny the way his jaw squared and his teeth clenched didn't affect her. Indeed she felt powerful, desirable. Her core throbbed a little as she felt herself become a little pent up in the heat of the moment.

She was a dirty, pretty thing they told her. But that was how she liked it. It drew them in long enough to be of use before she would push them away with a look or a word.

That's what made her so good at her job.

A ghost of a smile lit up his face, his eyes narrowed. As she started to grind harder into him, she could feel the hardness in his pants pressing up against her. Beginning to roll her hips, she let herself enjoy the friction for a second, eyes flicking closed as he hit the bundle of nerves that made her bite her lip and suck in a deep breath.

No, that wasn't strictly speaking professional. But hell, the lines of what her job was, were continually blurred to the point where 'Roxy' and herself sometimes became one.

"Mmmm," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. He tilted his head back - almost as if he was in pain. His hands, she noticed, were sunk at his sides, fists clenched and digging into the seat.

The final bars began to play. She felt a loss. She didn't want it to end.

Harder she pushed her hips, stretching her torso so there was only a hairs breadth of air between them. Rolling into him, again and again and again-

Then silence. Chest jutting forward, hips pressed into his, the music stopped, fading away abruptly and rousing her from her thoughts. His eyes flashed open - dropping to her breasts. She saw his lips part. She knew he wanted to take her in his mouth, wrap his tongue around her nipples, suckle on her skin. She recognized that look. His hips twitched beneath her. She shuddered a little at the hardness he had achieved - stilling the urge to press herself against him again. Instead awkwardly tumbling back and reaching down for her discarded clothing.

She looked away for a second as she redressed. The thud in her heart made her feel a little breathless. Shaking her head, she willed herself back into reality.

Pivoting back to face her client, she pushed her hair back, giving him an almost coy look as she watched him pull at the crotch of his pants - failing to hide his clearly, very visible erection that made her swallow deeply at the memory.

"Um…"

She didn't know what to say. This never happened. She always had a seductive line, a joke, a compliment… Something to ease the awkwardness. Instead she let his eyes draw her in again. Then she let herself follow the sharp curve of his jaw juxtaposed with the softness of mouth and cheek - noticing the soft scar on it and wondering how it came to be.

"So, 'Roxy', what if I want to see you again."

She wrapped her arm around her waist, anxiously chewing on her clip a little. "Well, you know where I work," she replied quietly.

A faint smile curved the edges of his mouth. He shifted forward, resting his forearms on his knees.

"What if I couldn't wait."

She felt the breath ease out of her, her chest compressing slightly and sinking into her waist. "What did you have in mind?"

He tilted his head to one side, those expressive eyes widening. "How about after hours. Tonight."

Pausing, she rand a hand across her collar bone - noticing how his eyes followed her every move She knew what he wanted. Hell - it wasn't the first time she'd been asked. And it wasn't like she hadn't said yes before. This woman could easily separate sex from feelings and if someone wanted to pay her occasionally…

"You can't afford me." She shook her head a little as she spoke.

"Try me," he countered, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black small notebook and pen and passing it to her.

Taking it from him, she narrowed her eyes, slipping the tip of the pen between her lips as she wondered what his deal was. Had this been his plan all along? Too shy to get an escort? Or was it her? Was it her he craved?

After scribbling down a number, she passed the book back to him, expecting him to laugh and walk out at her audacious request. His eyes glanced over the page, closing the book and then with a hint of a smile he looked. up at her.

"Fine."

Her heart dropped. She hadn't expected…

"And I'll round it up to ten. If you agree to the whole weekend."

Her mind began to race. Ten grand. Ten thousand dollars. It would take her months to earn that. It would be enough to make her plans a reality. Enough to move back East - start afresh.

But she had to admit this man scared her. She wasn't really sure why. Maybe she didn't trust him. Maybe she didn't trust herself.

But ten thousand dollars…

"Okay." His features began to soften, relaxing almost at her words. He looked almost sweet - innocent even. Though she knew that was a fallacy.

"One thing, what's your name. Your real name?"

"Emma."

He reached out his large, warm hand and she reciprocated in kind, "Nice to meet you Emma. I'm Killian."

And his hand enveloped hers softly, squeezing it gently. So tender, so unexpected.

Who was this man, she wondered as she led him from the room back into the club.

**Reviews are amazingly appreciated - they are the only way I know what you think. Thanks!**


	2. Business or pleasure?

Barely inside, Emma found herself backed up against a wall - hips pressed against the hard surface. Strong hands dug into her hair. He smelled like expensive cologne and something intangibly masculine. His breath was hot and damp as he leaned in -

"Wait," she gasped, pressing a firm hand against his chest - holding him at bay, "Business first."

He gave her a reluctant half smile; cocking an eyebrow before stepping back and releasing her. Sucking in a breath, she began to shrug off her thick wool coat.

"Cash or check?" he asked, his voice cool and silky, casually slipping his hands into his pockets as he spoke.

"You carry around ten thousand dollars in cash?"

He merely shrugged, his eyes dancing mischievously as he noticed her confused expression.

"Cash is fine," she replied, curiosity swimming over her as she began to wonder exactly who this Killian was, really.

He turned away from her and she took the chance to survey her surroundings. The room was large - with an adjoining bedroom off to her left. Opposite her was a wall of floor to ceiling picture windows looking out on the twinkling city skyline. In front of her was a plush, expensive looking sofa set grouped around a modern steel fireplace that looked like something straight out of an interior design magazine. The walls were painted a deep plum shade - giving the space a strange, almost sensual ambience. It suited him, she thoughtbriefly. Dark. Mysterious.

When he turned back to her, he held in his hand a thick pile of crisp green notes. She glanced down. They were all hundreds.

"Do you want to count it?" he teased, holding out the money so it was within her grasp.

Taking it from him, she opened her purse and pushed it inside. "I trust you."

"Oh do you now?" he toyed, taking a step closer to her.

Emma let out a small laugh. She tossed her coat and purse to one side before hooking her thumbs into the belt loops of her jeans. "I have two rules." She reached into her back pocket and pulled out gold foiled condom wrapper, holding it up for him to see, "First, this is non negotiable."

Nodding, "Of course," he avowed. "And number two?"

"I don't kiss." She paused for a second before adding, "On the lips."

His brow furrowed, his eyes questioning her. His gaze darted to her mouth. She saw the way he took in her lips, their curve, their color. His jaw clenched briefly.

"Okay," he finally replied.

She relaxed, the particulars of their arrangement now sorted. She let her hips loosen, sinking to one side, and her hands slid up to her waist. "So…"

Then he was in front of her again, so quickly she barely registered his movement. This time he wrapped one hand around her back and slid it up her neck, burying it into the hairat the base of her skull. His hand was cool against her skin and she shivered slightly. The other found its way to the contour of her hip, his thumb rubbing over the bone, fingers clenching her waist.

When his lips met her skin, she flinched. She hadn't the time to anticipate how it would feel, how it would make her feel. His touch was surprisingly soft - so much so she barely felt his mouth as it lay a trail of kisses along her collar bone and up the line of her neck. She tipped back her head as he brushed the sensitive spot below her chin before crawling along the line of her jaw, which such achingly soft kisses it actually hurt.

She felt hot. Each kiss increasing the burning feeling in her throat. She was barely aware of the way his hand tightened in her hair. The room was darkening. She was forgetting who she was. Where she was. Who she was with. Only feeling. Rearing up into his touch, her hands found their way to his waist, tugging him tighter to her, pressing her chest against his.

As he reached her ear, he tugged on the lobe, rolling it between his teeth, she gasped lightly - a rumble of want growing inside her. The reaction inside her body was so quick and violent it took her by surprise: the line between business and pleasure blurring further as each second passed. She wanted this man. Wanted his mouth on her. His hands on her. Wanted him in every which way she could.

Then his hand began to slide under her shirt, pushing up the material and letting his fingers skate over her flesh - leaving a trail of goose pimples in his wake. With her desire growing, she clung tighter to him. Every breath became difficult as she stood paralyzed in his embrace. When he rubbed his cheek against hers, she was surprised by how  gentle it was- so tender, like a lover.

His face was so close to hers it was all a blur; she couldn't focus on anything except for the devastating blue of his eyes. He paused, foreheads almost touching, nose pressed against her cheek, lips so close she could almost feel the buzz of electricity that radiated from them. With a tilt of his head, he nudged her nose, nuzzling into her. It was so intimate, so close - she almost shook in anticipation.

_This wasn't how it was meant to happen._

"How about a dance?"

Dipping back a little, she could see him more clearly. The part of his lips. The slight flush on his cheeks. His affectation visible in ever pore. His reaction a reflection or her own state of mind.

He simply nodded, swallowing deeply, letting his hand trail back down her spine, lingering on her hip as he stared deep into her eyes.

_It wasn't meant to be like this._

Giving her head a small shake she began to walk towards him, pushing him back towards the couch until he sank back into the cushions with a soft groan. She surveyed the room; spotting a Bose docking station on a dark metallic table in the corner. Quickly, she returned to her purse, digging out her phone and choosing a track before plugging it in - allowing the mellow beat to flood the room. The mood instantly thickening around them.

With a flick of her thumb, she released the button that closed her jeans, slowly pushing them down and kicking off her heels as she dropped them to the floor. Stepping aside she leaned down to him, bringing their faces close again until she was wrapped in his scent. It washed over her in a thick wave: exotic, spiced and all consuming in a way she hadn't experienced before. Her fingers worked quickly on the buttons of his vest, until it lay open, exposing the dark grey shirt that closely skimmed his lean chest.

"Tell me what you like," she asked, beginning to sway and curve her body in time with the throbbing beat of the music.

"I like you," he sassed, raising his brow slightly and reaching out his hand to let his fingers trace down the skin of her thigh. He touched her like she was fragile - delicately as though she were made of glass and may break if he pressed too hard.

Smiling, she hooked her fingers under the hem of her shirt, peeling it away while circling her hips. Staying silent, she crawled up onto the sofa, straddling him again like she had in the club. But this time, her sheer lace underwear gave the action a much more intimate, personal feel. She felt his eyes scan over her again - every inch of skin seemingly explored in a second. _How did he do that?_ she thought, running her hands up and down his chest, unpicking the buttons as she went. His chest was covered in soft, dark hair that gave him a delightfully dangerous appeal. She savoured the slightly rough texture under her palms - so masculine and real: so deliciously arousing.

Emma settled herself into his lap, rolling her hips against him. When he touched her again, she held her breath for a second. His hands were a little cold still - her skin puckered slightly when he dipped a finger into the cup of her bra, glancing over her already hardening nipple and making her press her core against his lap until she met his warm, throbbing erection that was already desperately seeking release from it's tailored prison.

He leaned closer to her, reaching his mouth for her neck and branding the skin again, his tongue supplementing those lips - creating a dizzying contrast of hot and cold. Then he unhooked her bra, fingers lingering over the small bones of her back, tracing them one by one as his mouth reached her breast.

Oh how she wanted to feel his lips on that skin, for him to take her in his mouth, for his hands to push up against her…

And it was better than she could have imagined. Rough yet tender, his hands and mouth moved quickly, arresting her senses as she continued to rock against him, searching for that divine friction that she so craved. Lips tracing lazy circles that matched the firm grip of his hands - rough yet smooth, strong yet gentle.

Enraptured, she pulled away the last of his shirt, wrestling awkwardly with his cufflinks, swimming in sensation. She leaned back, resting on his thighs, her body bared to him as he pressed his hands back and forth over her skin. Her eyes sank closed, fingers trailing over the lean muscles of his arms as she let him consume her for a moment. Let him use her, take her.

"You're a bloody beautiful thing," he whispered, bending down and dropping kisses across her waist - her stomach fluttering at his touch, his expert lips so teasing and delightful she never wanted him to stop.

When he picked her up, her eyes flashed open in surprise just in time to feel his lips on her face. Oh, he carefully avoided her mouth - but he bent the rules. A kiss on her forehead, the tip of her nose, the hollow of her cheek, the little dimple that emerged where the corners of her lips met… Each one sparking a desire inside her to break her rules, to pull his mouth to hers. Those lips felt so divine she felt a craving to taste them - a craving she pushed away, chastising herself: this is business, Swan. 

Sweeping her along into the other room, he laid her down on the bed, standing for a second, just watching her. Her hair was pooled around her head, her arms raised, fingers lazily twirling strands between them. She couldn't read his face. His eyes seemed darker in the low light; his gaze unflinching. Emma rarely met someone she couldn't read, but this man, this Killian, was closed off to her. He was keeping something hidden, something that intrigued her and piqued her interest, something that spoke to her desire to uncover hidden secrets.

"I think," she muttered, settling into a seated position, "You are wearing too many clothes."

Then he did it again, that damn smirk that made her stomach flip. He gestured towards his pants with open palms. She shuffled forward until he was within her reach and then traced the outline of his hardness with her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze that made his eyes flash closed and a soft curse fall from his lips. Pleased at his reaction, she tugged his belt open, unzipping the fly and pressing down his pants until she was face to face with a pair of black boxer briefs. _Hmm,_ she thought, _he certainly likes black…_

He quickly kicked away his clothes and shoes, never looking from her. It was as if he couldn't somehow. Things were becoming a little intense for her liking. The looks too lingering. The silences too meaningful. So she grabbed his waist, tugging him closer. Hungry to taste his skin, desperate to place her lips on him, enjoy his body the way he had enjoyed hers. But even more so the break this strange impasse between them. Though this may be a business agreement, Emma intended to relish every second.

He flinched as her lips roamed his stomach, leaving moist trails while she reached her hand between his legs, rolling and cupping him - her core throbbing a little when she felt his thickness and length - trembling slightly at the burn she knew it would evoke, shivering at the anticipation of how he would fill her so delightfully. These feelings she could cope with. Sex, the act, the sensations. Feelings - emotions - not required. She was in control.

Then his underwear was gone as her fever grew, grasping him firmly, circling him with her lips, lapping her tongue against his tip. She worked into him, rocking her hand as she slipped him deeper into her mouth, his moans increasing in volume the harder she twirled and sucked.

"Gods, your mouth feels amazing."

She hooked her legs around his, drawing him closer, reaching to take a handful of his firm ass - digging in her nails, scratching him roughly as she became more overwhelmed by her task. Harder. Tighter. Deeper. She let him fuck her mouth, his hand grabbing her hair, his hips thrusting into her throat so fast she began to struggle to keep breathing. She could feel him getting closer. She steeled herself for his climax-

"Wait," he gasped, reeling backwards, chest heaving, small beads of sweat on his brow.

Emma rubbed her mouth with the back of her hand, her brow crumpling, "Did I do something wrong?" she asked.

"Oh no. Not at all." He seemed to be composing himself. "But I don't want to come in your mouth. At least not tonight."

Sinking to his knees she felt herself tremble in anticipation. She knew what he was planning. She knew and she was scared - it was so intimate. She hadn't let a man make love to her like that, not for a very long time at least. A flicker of fear burned inside.

"You don't have to," she protested as he rolled down her panties and she felt the chilled air of the room cool her wetness, "It's about you tonight."

He gazed up her body. So serious he looked - his mouth in a straight line, the reflection of the lights from outside dancing on his eyes. He pressed a kiss just where her hip met her leg. She shivered. "But I want to. I want to see you come Emma. That's not a problem is it?"

He was her client and she couldn't really deny him if he really wanted to - she'd been asked to do a lot kinkier things before (to which she invariably declined). In reply, she shook her head slightly before pressing it back against the soft comforter.

In the darkness, she let her senses take over and her eyes slip closed. A whisper of warm breath against her core. Then a touch - gentle at first, more pressure  
following. Cool, soft, wet. Lapping, drawing figures of eights, lines and circles. Flicking against her clit - shooting hot sparks up through her abdomen.

Rolling her head to one side, she slipped one heel to his shoulder, baring more of her intimacy. Gentle fingers began to trace her folds, dipping into the wetness, smearing it around her cunt, slowly easing inside her, opening her up, spreading her. Making her ache for him.

"Gorgeous," he muttered against her, nuzzling his face into her stomach, his scruff skimming over her skin as he drove his fingers back and forth. "Talk to me Emma. Tell me how this feels. How am I making you feel?"

Her self consciousness had lifted. All that was left was her senses.

The words tripped eagerly from her tongue. "Hot. Aching. Burning pressure. Don't stop. Please." Bucking up her stomach she stifled a gasp as his fingers rubbed against her walls in exactly the place that made her want to scream, "Oh God! Damn, this feels like heaven. Please, harder. Please."

He obliged, pressing against her bundle of nerves again and again - rippling his fingers inside of her. Her stomach contracted. The pressure began to build.

"I'm going to come," she panted, her voice high pitched and faint, her face contorting as she felt herself become overwhelmed, "It's too much - I can't - I can't-"  
It was a guttural cry that escaped her throat. Something feral and primitive. Strong waves of pleasure rippled though her - pulsing the muscles in her core, pressing against his fingers as they kept working against her.

"I can feel you coming around my fingers. Fuck it feels good— I can't wait until you come on my cock. I'm going to make you come again and again and again until you beg me to stop, Emma"

It was the most he had spoken all night, but she was too spent to process his words fully, her body melting into itself as she settled down from her high, cool blood pooling in her veins. But she registered his promise and shivered in anticipation. The buzzing in her ears began to settle. Her vision became clear again. Enough to see him hovering above her.

Their eyes locked. He grasped her hand, lifting her up until she was standing. He led her across the room, to the window. In front of it was a small chaise lounge. She started to breathe a little quicker, her earlier climax fading and a new want growing to replace it.

He sat facing her, tugging her until she stood between his legs. She let herself look at him properly for the first time. His skin glowed under the city lights. He was all lean, taut muscle and dark, swarthy hair. His erection jutting up proudly from his lap, ready for her, teasing her… She let herself run her hand over him again - he flinched. Emma was fascinated, as she always was, by the combination of soft skin and rock hard solidity.

"I thought you may like a view," he whispered, gesturing to the city scene behind him.

"Can anyone see?" she asked.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. A fever grew up inside her. The prospect of someone watching their fucking filling her with an unexpected thrill that swirled inside her and tied her stomach in knots.

"Well, we better put on a good show. Just in case," she winked. Then he seized her waist, bundling her into his lap.

Furious kisses began to swarm over her skin. Relentless and overpowering - brushing over her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Fingers and hands traversing her body, working her like she was some kind of instrument, swaying to his beat, pressing against him. Her core was wet, and hot and throbbing. Burning, scalding, demanding it's release.

Frustrated, she dug her mouth into his neck, nipping at him with her teeth, her fingers scaling his back, rubbing against the muscles that rippled as he worked her body.

"Mmm."

"Ah."

"Hmmm."

Her cries were soft, involuntary. Each one tightening his grip on her body.

Then she pushed her chest up to his lips - desperate for him to take her in his mouth again. When he obliged she thought she was in heaven. So warm, so soft. The heat mingling inside her was addictive and overwhelming all at once.

"Now," he suddenly growled, snapping back his head. He lifted her from his lap, sitting her on the seat beside him before stalking across the room. Quickly returning with a condom in his hand, ripping it open as he walked, starting to unravel it before he reached her.

His was hair ruffled, his eyes blazing, his lips curved in a wicked little smile: Emma steeled herself.

Then without a word he resumed his earlier stance, picking her up effortlessly, pushing her hips to his - teasing at her entrance.

"Go on," she urged, tilting up her chin, looking down at him, raising her chest and pulling back her shoulders, "Take me. Fuck me. I can handle it."

So he did. Hard. Rough. Pinching. Burning.

She gasped. The stretch was so much. Too much. It overwhelmed her. She shifted her legs a little wider to accommodate him, steeling her breathing as he pressed up into her, before dragging himself out and driving in once more without allowing her the time to adjust to his size.

Relentless. Forcing himself inside her tightness as she slowly warmed to him. The sensation began to overwhelm her. It had been so long since she had been with a man who could make her feel this way. Most clients were selfish, where Killian seemed more focused on her responses and sensations - his hands swarmed over her body as he eased her hips into a rolling pace.

Minutes passed, his hardness slickly drifting in and out, her wetness spilling forth over him - more and more each second as the burn turned to an ache which sank into a throbbing, churning desire that filled her body - seeping from her pores, rolling from her lips.

"Yes, oh, yes…"

Other words seemed impossible - only this brief encouragement slipped from her lips. Her mind was incapable of coherent thought when consumed in the powerful sensations he elicited from her body.

As her moans became more vocal, his restraint seemed to wane. His thrusts becoming less precise. He was slick with sweat, shoulders glistening; her hands slipped against his skin as she pressed her palms against his chest.

"Fuck you're so tight, I can feel you, you're crushing against me. It's so good Emma, so good."

She flipped her head back, his words churning her stomach, heightening every sensation. Her hips began to rock and pivot harder against him.

"That's a good girl now - ride me. Go on. Make yourself come for me again. Fuck me, use my cock, make yourself come again."

Those words were it for her. Unleashing, as they did, the dirty little girl inside who wanted nothing more than to be talked to like that. Graphic. No messing around.

The rocking and pushing was uncoordinated and messy: slippery, wet. Panting, moaning, fingers digging in, muscles clenching. It all became a blur. A total blur. A blur of pleasure.

All sensations melding into one.

As she was overcome once more she was briefly aware of the street below. Cars idling past. Street lights shining. Towering buildings with twinkling lights…  
"God!" he cried, pulling her so tight to him the breath was squeezed out of her lungs, pushing her into her own orgasm. "That's it love, come on-" he choked, reaching between them to press against her clit again. She wanted to scream. So she did.

Her head found his shoulder. Her body was shaking. Her legs felt weak and her mind numb.

This wasn't how it was meant to be…

The thought echoed in her as she nestled against him. When his hand began to trace lazy lines down her back, she felt herself smile. Sated and tired, she didn't have the energy to move. His body beneath her was warm and comforting, his arms holding her closely, still tight around her even minutes later.

Then he tilted his head and she felt a small kiss on her temple - cool, damp, almost chaste.

Though her breathing calmed, her heart still raced. She didn't know if it was because of her orgasm, or his closeness and the way it felt to be wrapped in his arms…  
Emma was trying not to care how intimate this felt. Trying not to let herself pretend this was more than business.

Trying. But failing.

**A review would be immensely appreciated!**


	3. Extracurricular Activities

Emma Swan was not the snuggling type. Neither was she the sharing a bed type. Instead preferring to satisfy her urges as quickly as possible and leave before her conquest had time to protest. It was just easier that way: easier to keep that barrier up between her and the world.

Intimacy was overrated.

At least that was what she told herself.

But here she was sharing a bed with this man - Killian - who made her head hurt with questions and confusion and whom she found herself unable to work out, no matter how hard she tried.

He had paid for a weekend and a weekend he would get, so when he pulled her towards the bed in the wee hours of the night, she had not protested. Instead she had let her head sink into the plush feather pillows and allowed his hand to linger on her hip as her breathing stilled and she lapsed into unconsciousness.

By now it must be morning already. His back was to hers. She wasn't sure of the time but the sky was still dark, the winter sun having not yet risen. No matter how late she fell asleep she was always awake before the dawn. It was like some kind of instinct inside her - a defense mechanism if you will. Emma felt safe in the darkness of night. But in daylight she was exposed, raw and vulnerable. She didn't like it.

She let herself look at him. His chest softly rose and fell in the rhythm of peaceful sleep: his back was broad and strong looking. She could make out those lean muscles that her hands had so enjoyed exploring the night before and the faint red lines and crescents where her nails had dug in and pulled along his tawny skin.

The memory of how he felt under her hands washed over her. Velvety soft. Firm. Athletic.

She felt a tingling feeling in her stomach and a smile rise on her mouth as the sensation washed over her. Her fingers twitched - wanting to reach out and touch him again; feel him once more.

Upwards she looked: his back melted into the nape of his neck - his artfully tousled hair a vivid contrast against the stark white pillow. It was thick and inviting - she had an urge to dig her fingers into it, tug on it, pull his face towards hers and-

No, she told herself. Business. There were rules to follow and follow them she will.

"Morning," came a croaky voice as he began to shift position, slowly rolling over to face her.

"How did you know I was awake?" she asked, propping up her head on her hand. As he turned the sheet around his waist slipped dangerously low. The twin bones of his hips jutting out, framing that dark track of hair that trailed down between them, disappearing under the thin sheet.

"Your breathing changed."

"Seriously?" she asked, raising a brow.

"Seriously," he insisted. She resisted the urge to smile at the matter of fact way he answered her, which was at once infuriating and undeniably sexy.

"It's still so early," she muttered, rolling onto her back and turning to look out of the large windows to her right.

"That it is," he drawled. She felt the bed shift. He was inching closer to her. She spun her head back towards him. He was so close. His body warm and inviting, radiating waves of heat.

Emma usually ran cold. She always struggled to stay warm - wrapping herself in layers and scarves and mittens from November until at least April. He seemed the opposite - almost at a permanent feverish temperature. It made her want to keep close to him, mould her body to his and sap the energy from him.

"How on Earth will we pass the time?" he mused, reaching over to nuzzle into her neck.

His damp lips shot a spark of fire down her spine, clutching cooly around its base and leaving a tingle lingering around her hips. Killian's lips then moved across her collar bone; slowly, doting almost. Little light kisses.

She let out a small laugh.

"I have no idea," she finally replied, letting her body relax into the bed and his strangely soothing touch.

"Hmm," he murmured, lightly biting the top of her breast. She gasped in surprise - meeting his eyes as he looked up. Those blue eyes again. Damn, they got to her. They were so ridiculously beautiful. Azure waters wrapped in a sapphire colored band, framed with long dark lashes.

She was staring. She should stop that.

A wicked smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. He was looking at her like a starved man did to a long awaited feast. Her stomach throbbed in response: rippling and tormenting her.

When his hand wrapped around her waist and pulled her back towards him, she moaned softly. Her back hit his firm, hair covered chest. He rose his legs to cocoon her. She could feel his hardness digging into her back. Good morning indeed.

He swept her hair over her shoulder, his mouth began its fresh onslaught - licking and nipping, while one his hand rose from her waist and began to cup and tease her breasts.

Every touch doing wicked things to her.

She tilted her hips back, pressing against him. He replied in kind - his body surging up to meet hers. She pushed back as far as she could, wanting to feel him everywhere. His heat was thawing her chill, making her ache for him more and more.

The loss when he rolled away was brief but devastating all the same. Her body protested- come back! She heard him fumble for something. He didn't speak. The gentle rustle of plastic being torn was her warning.

Seconds later he was back - ravishing her with his hands and mouth: she lay almost limply in his arms, now awkwardly pushing back into him: her coordination failing as she let instinct take control.

Then she felt his cock between her buttocks. He slid it down between them. So slowly.

She could hear his breathing deepen, pouring over her skin in slow bursts. For a moment she started - would he really-

But then he was there, teasing at her entrance, his hand slipping around her waist again and tugging her tighter, taunting her with quick little thrusts that made her murmur in protest.

Until finally he relented. Slowly this time, not like before; much more gently - as if he wanted to savour it. Taking her from behind he felt even bigger than she remembered, achingly so; she squeezed him softly and he moaned into her ear. She kept her knees together, letting her muscles hug him tight as he entered, only stalling when their hips met.

"Fuck," she muttered. He groaned in reply.

Silence. The only sound the blood rushing through her veins in a throbbing beat.

The buzzing heat of his body behind her.

The gentle scrape of his fingers tightly gripping her waist.

All attempts to retain some sort of self control were lost. Her mind was turning to mush; liquifying into pure sensation and emotion. The feel of him inside her, filling her, aching her, pushed away all coherent thought. All that she wanted was him in that moment. He was all she could think of, all that consumed her.

When he began to rock into her, she thought she wouldn't be able to take it for very long. It was too goddamn much. So perfectly he tilted his hips, ran his fingers over her waist, curled his body around then he started to mutter into her ear. The words tripped off his tongue in that sexy, guttural way he seemed to find effortless.

"Christ you turn me on Emma." As if to prove his point, he thrust harder up into her - to the point where she felt almost torn in two.

Yes, protestation was useless.

"God. Fuck."

His chest began to heave more heavily.

"Are you some kind of siren? Beckoning men to their demise?" She sobbed quietly in reply.

"How do you make me feel like this?"

She didn't know. How did he do this to her…

His hand slid up her body to the base of her neck, pressing her chest back against him for a second before slipping back to cup her breasts.

"I wish I could stay buried in you all day Emma. Like this. Slick with your wetness. You pressed against me."

She tilted her hips back into him and he grunted heavily; his free hand moving up her back, fingers tracing circles over its bare skin before slipping over her shoulder and holding tight and pushing her body harder down onto his cock.

His words descended into incoherent moans and sighs, interspersed with his lips meeting her neck, or her shoulder. His fingers tightening on her breast.

She let him take her away. Hold her tight. Take her as he wished. Let herself just enjoy the abandon of giving him control.

His pace quickened. His body became damp with sweat and she slid against him. She met his thrusts with eager abandon.

This. This was the feeling. This was-

The release took her by surprise, cascading around her like a falling house of cards and pulling her under as he continued to move. She clutched the pillow. Tried to muffle her cry.

Felt him stiffen behind her until he shook. Empty yet replete at once.

A pause.

Seconds became minutes. She felt him soften and slip from her but they stayed pressed together, breathing in tandem.

Then he kissed her, through her tangled hair, behind her ear before slipping away out of the bed. The coolness reclaiming her as he took his heat with him.

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"I hope you don't mind, I ordered breakfast."

Emma had wrapped herself in one of the room's luxurious robes and was sitting on the chaise lounge that she had became so intimately familiar with, watching the sun rise over the city in peach and amber hues.

"Only if you don't mind eating alone."

She looked across the room at him. He had a towel tucked around his hips and his hair was wet, water dripping down onto his shoulders. The dampness highlighted his lean physique. She felt a throb of desire rise again.

How did he make her like this? So… insatiable.

"I thought you wanted the weekend?"

He moved towards her, smiling; gradually becoming illuminated by the warm light from outside."Oh, I'll get what I paid for."

His words hit her sharply. What he paid for. Yes. Of course.

"But," he continued, "Work beckons."

"I see."

"But feel free to use the suite, order whatever you want."

"You not worried I'm going to run away?" she teased, half seriously.

He ran a finger down her cheek, calling her mischievousness out with his cool eyed stare.

"I'm not the kind of man to gamble with such things. You'll be here. Plus, I have plans for us tonight. Make sure you're ready by seven."

"What - you're taking me out? Like a date? You do realize, I'm a sure thing."

His eyes danced a little, as if he was amused by her words.

"Seven," he repeated, "And dress up."

"In what?" she laughed, gesturing to the terry robe she wore.

"Go shopping. I'll reimburse you."

"Really?"

"Yes," he insisted, a light tone to his voice, "I like the women on my arm to look good.

He winked at her before turning away and letting the towel drop to the floor, giving her a perfect view of his fantastically muscular and toned ass. Her eyes widened. Her legs instinctively pushed together as she watched him open the wardrobe at the other side of the room and start to get dressed. The heat between her legs started to rise again.

What the hell was she doing?

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"Opera?"

"You object?" he asked, as he steered her from their town car into the theater.

"No…" she hesitated, "It's just not what I thought… I mean…" She turned back to him and gave him a weak smile. In response his eyes flickered across her face, not giving anything away.

A concierge greeted them, shaking Killian's hand as though they were intimate acquaintances. Quickly he swept them up a winding, velvet carpeted staircase to a narrow corridor lined with doors, before pushing one open.

"Your favourite box Mr. Jones."

Killian shook his hand. Emma noticed a bill folded neatly in his palm and the nod of understanding that passed between the two men. Curiosity burned inside her. The more she saw the more she wanted to know.

When the door slipped closed, she looked over at him. Slim, dark suit with a skinny black tie, glossy black shoes at his feet. The outfit emphasised his height and build and of course he looked insanely attractive once again.

"So, Mr. Jones is it?"

That smirk. Again.

"Aye. I suppose it is time we moved beyond first names."

She held out her hand, "Swan, Emma Swan."

"Jones, Killian Jones."

He leant forward and kissed her hand - his lips slightly damp and slowly peeling away from her skin as he straightened up. Prickly heat rose up her arm.

"Nice to meet you Mr. Jones," she replied breezily.

He raised his brow and nodded. "Let me help you with your coat."

"Oh no, I can-"

But she was too slow, or he was too quick… From behind her, he reached around and unpicking the three large buttons of her thick, black coat, gently easing it over her shoulders and down her arms. A chill assaulted the bare skin that was now exposed, heightened by his knuckles that raked over her skin.

The dress she had chosen to wear was perhaps not the most astute choice for midwinter.

Whisper thin red silk that settled just on the knee, rising into a halter style that tied around her neck whilst dipping down between her breasts. Her back was totally bare and exposed to him.

She felt his hands glide over her skin, palms flat, picking out the small vertebrae of her spin; she shivered, rolling back her head slightly, her hair skimming over his hands as they moved.

"Turn around," he ordered quietly. She obeyed, his serious tone an antithesis to his earlier playful mood. She looked up.

The stubble on his face was artfully composed, lining the sharpness of his jaw that sat lightly clenched. She felt a hot flush bloom as his eyes dropped - devouring her hungrily.

Her nipples hardened under his gaze, well aware that they were clearly visible through the thin material. He wasn't touching her but still she felt raw and exposed.

He didn't speak. Merely smiling tightly lipped but widely.

"You approve?" she asked, urgently wanting to break this standoff - wrestle away this power he had over her.

He slid his finger into the neckline of the dress, running it lower until his warm finger met her cool breast. She flinched and sucked in a breath.

He traced his finger back up her exposed breastbone, slipping back around her neck and into her lightly curled hair, fanning it out between his fingers.

"You'll do I suppose," he teased.

She wanted to hit him - slap him around the face until he gave her a real compliment. She knew she looked damn good. She knew this dress made her breasts and ass look pert and this was the perfect shade of red against her creamy colored skin. And maybe she had been expecting a compliment or two…

"Come, let's sit."

The box was big enough for four, with large plush chairs set back into its recess. The only lighting was from two dim wall lights; most of the space in shadow. They had an excellent view of the stage and the people milling below in the stalls.

"So what is this we are seeing then?" she asked as she sat.

"Tristan and Isolde."

She looked at him blankly. His eyes slipped closed and he leaned a little closer, an amused expression on his face.

"It's a story of forbidden love between a knight and a princess."

"You're into that kind of thing?" she asked. "It seems a little… out of character. For you, I mean."

"And what would you know of my character?" His voice held a sharp edge that made her pull back.

"Not enough," she answered honestly. Not nearly enough.

The house lights began to darken and their tete a tete came to an end. She sank into the soft chair, feeling the hair on her arms prickle as the first beats of the score throbbed across the room.

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"Are you following?"

He hadn't spoken to her since the curtain had risen.

He must have noticed the way she chewed her lip and furrowed her brow. Honestly, no, she was pretty lost. Theater in any form had never been an interest of hers. She could appreciate the fancy costumes and great voices, but the heart of the story was a mystery to her.

She shrugged and gave him a half smile. "Kinda," she lied.

He tilted his head so his mouth was again at her ear, warm breath on her neck, his arm was resting on her chair. "Tristan is a knight of England," he gestured to a tall, blonde actor on stage, "And Isolde is an Irish princess." She looked at the red haired girl currently singing in a flowing jade green gown. "Now, Isolde is promised to King Mark - Tristan's lord but, well, Tristan and Isolde fall in love." Killian's voice was low. He paused as the two characters embraced on stage, staring into each others eyes. "Isolde must marry King Mark - for honor, but she can't stay away from the knight's forbidden fruit and every evening they meet and consummate their love…"

Emma caught his eye. He wasn't looking at the stage anymore but focused on her face.

She breathed in sharply.

"But forbidden must be kept secret, and so poor Tristan and Isolde are cursed to hide their relationship."

"Does King Mark find out?" she asked, suddenly engrossed by the story of star crossed lovers.

"When do these stories ever end well?"

She could feel her heart beating louder in her chest. Still looking at him. Eyes trained on his lips.

He pressed a kiss on her shoulder.

"You look beautiful, Emma."

The compliment flooded the air around her, sucking out the oxygen and drawing down her shoulders. She blushed.

His hand cupped her jaw, keeping her focused on him. Until he reached forward.

"No…" she murmured in weak protest.

Soft lips cushioned against her own - almost chastely. Gently teasing hers apart, his tongue slowly dipping between them, meeting her own and sliding over it so splendidly.

She pressed herself closer. He tasted like mint and man and desire… She arched upwards chasing his kiss-

"No…" she said again, pulling back, chest heaving, eyes blazing. "I told you…"

His own eyes dimmed a little. He gave her a small nod. "Of course. I apologize." His stiff apology at odds with the fire and heat his kiss had promised.

"It's fine…" she muttered, shaking her head a little, trying to calm her breathing and forget the feel of his lips on hers and his tongue slipping into her mouth.

She needed to change the mood. Desperately.

Her hand crept over her seat and reached into his lap. She headed straight for the hardness she knew was beginning to form, clutching it in her hands and squeezing gently.

"Emma," he growled into her ear.

Ignoring him, she unflicked the button that held his pants closed and pulled down the zip, diving straight in and pulling out his semi hard erection. When her hands started to work, he began to nip at her ear. She kept looking forward, the face of seeming respectability to anyone who cared to glance their way.

She stroked his cock until it was hard and throbbing in her hand. His mouth stayed fixed upon her neck, shivers whispering down her spine with every breath he took.

Quicker she moved and he grunted softly in appreciation.

His hand met her thigh and crawled up it, pushing the soft silk aside until it met the apex of her legs. Lazily he began to rub circles over her, dampening her thong with each stroke until he pushed her underwear aside and his fingers started to work on her wetness.

She bit her lip. Trying to keep her composure, at least somewhat. She gripped him tighter.

Then his finger was inside her her and his thumb was rubbing her clit. She glanced down at the stage: the people below who had no idea what was happening in Box 3A. A swell rose in her. So erotic. Touching each other in the darkness; urging one another on.

She shifted in her seat, pushing her hips forward and forcing him deeper - rocking into him. Her own grasp becoming sloppy. He ran his tongue over her neck. Curved his fingers inside. Pressed his thumb that bit harder and she was gone.

Her mouth dropping open, head falling back - silencing her cry in the pit of her stomach, meeting his gaze as the surge of pleasure washed over her.

His hands slowly released her. Bringing his fingers to his mouth, he slowly ran them over his tongue, smiling at her in that wicked way of his.

"Mmmm."

She was on her knees quicker than she could think. Conscious to keep herself low and retain their privacy. Hungrily she took him in her mouth, drawing him in deep, tightening her fingers in a ring around the base of his cock that rose and fell in time with his brief thrusts and the bobbing of her head.

He tensed up. The muscles of his thighs tightening below her hand. His fingers digging into her hair.

The power she had over him right then was intoxicating and addictive and she didn't want it to end. She ran her teeth over his length and he shuddered, pressing up into her.

She could tell he was close so she pushed and pressed and worked him harder than she had ever tried or wanted to before - his release almost catching her by surprise as it cascaded down her throat. She swallowed deeply, pausing to catch his eye before she leaned in and cleaned him off with the tongue then she tucked him back inside his underwear with a gentle pat.

Killian's eyes were blown wide, his brow furrowed. He looked thoroughly fucked and Emma was thoroughly pleased with herself as she quietly slipped back into her seat.

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The rest of the performance passed without incident. When the lights rose, he helped her into her coat. He didn't speak but his lingering, smoldering glances down her body spoke volumes. She was turning to leave when she spotted something on the floor. She bent down. A wallet.

She picked it up it dropped open. A picture of a beautiful brunette was fixed inside - smiling, happy. She stared at it for moment.

"Emma?" he asked, turning back. He saw the wallet in her hand and frowned. Wordless she gave it back to him. He fingered it lightly.

"You must have dropped it."

His mouth set in a straight line, a few seconds passed.

"Is that - is that your…"

She didn't want to finish that sentence. And it was none of her business. He was a client. This was a business arrangement. Whatever his personal life was was of no concern of hers. But still…

"It is someone from long ago."

She wasn't satisfied with his answer, her eyes imploring for more even though her lips remained closed.

Darkness swept over his features. A wave of sadness. His lips pinched. His eyes dropped to the floor.

And she understood.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry…"

He shook his head, "It's fine."

But as they left the theatre Emma knew he certainly was not fine. In fact, it appeared that Killian Jones was perhaps almost as messed up as she was.

She desperately wanted to ask him more - who she was, what had happened. But instead she stayed silent and stared out of the window as sit car drove away.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Reviews make all the hard work of writing worthwhile, so thank you in advance!


	4. Secrets and Lies

**_A heads up to my fantastic beta Ztofan - you are awesome_ **

A light mist of rain had begun to fall by the time they reached the hotel. The chauffer opened the door for Emma and she thanked him with a terse smile as Killian rounded the car and walked ahead of her into the lobby.

She followed him in silence, slipping into the elevator as he pressed the button for their floor. They hadn't spoken on the journey home. Her mind was preoccupied with questions: who was the woman in the picture? What had happened to her? Who was Killian Jones exactly? In consequence, Emma had kept her gaze firmly focused on the city as it passed by and he hadn't seemed to mind.

"Did you enjoy it?"

For a moment Emma was confused: did he mean the opera or…

Glancing to her left, she saw no hint of amusement in his eyes. "Yes. Thank you."

"Good," he replied simply, then spoke no more as they rose up through the tower of the hotel.

The doors opened and they made their way to the suite. He punched in the glossy black keycard and pushed open the door, "Ladies first."

She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but a strange mood had descended between them and it was tying her stomach in knots. As she slipped past him, he kept his distance, arching his body away from her. It was unnerving. He seemed distant - pensive almost. Emma almost laughed at herself: psychoanalyzing a man she had known for less than 24 hours - one who was paying her for her time (this thought in particular caused the knot in her stomach to squeeze a little tighter.)

Kicking off her shoes she let her mind idle for a second, enjoying the easing ache in the arches of her feet when she stepped on the cool, tiled floor.

A phone rang. She turned back her head and saw Killian closing the door as he pulled his mobile phone from a pocket inside his suit jacket. Trying not to look like she was eavesdropping, Emma busied herself reclining on the sofa: letting her body arch slightly over the arm and crossing her legs nonchalantly. She reminded herself she was not here to make friends - not here to be his confident - she was here for those ten thousand dollars sitting in her purse in the bedroom.

Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand reasons she could leave her shitty job at the club and her equally shitty admin job that she hated. Enough to finally leave this place that was the root of so many memories. She bristled as she let her wall down for a second and thought of  _him._ That  _person_ who she had tried so hard to forget for the past ten years. His face was forming deep within her consciousness and she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will it away.

"I have to go out."

He appeared in front of her, as silent as a ghost, and she started, pushing herself up until she was sitting upright.

"Now?" she asked, puzzled. "It's almost midnight."

His mouth flashed into a small side smile, though he did not look directly at her, instead he took a deep breath as he loosened his tie and tossed it onto the sofa beside her. "Business."

He didn't offer any more information and there was a chill about his demeanor - she wasn't sure whether this was from the call, or what had happened at the opera.

"Okay," she replied slowly, wrapping her arms around her waist self-consciously (which was silly because he still wasn't even properly looking at her), "I'll wait up. Watch a movie or something. Then we can…" She cocked her head to her shoulder.

"No," he shook his hand, "Please, sleep. I may be late."

Her brow crumpled in confusion and slight disappointment - despite everything, she had been looking forward to getting her hands on more of Mr. Jones that night.

"Okay," she muttered softly, her voice disappearing in the large space as he nodded and turned on his heel.

"Good night," he replied softly as he made for the door and quickly left the room.

* * *

It took her about five minutes before she cracked open the mini bar and started working on a glass of Jack on the rocks. Her emotions had undergone something of a whirlwind in the past hour and her favorite way of winding down was with a glass of hard liquor or two. She looked in his closet and selected a crisp white shirt to wear. She hated sleeping naked. It was too bare - too exposed and way too intimate. The barrier of a layer of cloth made her feel secure and in control; something she thought was desirable in her current situation.

Sipping her drink, she thumbed her way over the half dozen suits that were hung neatly in a row - all freshly cleaned and pressed - all dark of course. Wandering into the bathroom she began to look around with a keener eye than she had earlier in the day. She dug around in his small toiletry bag and sprayed his expensive cologne in the air - wondering if there would be some clues about him for her to find. But there was nothing of interest, just a selection of expensive and minimal toiletries that could have belonged to any one of a thousand men.

Unsatisfied, she moved back to the bedroom. Beside the bed she found a small, black leather briefcase. Hauling it up onto the mattress, she hesitated. Maybe this was going too far, part of her said, searching through his private things. She eyed the bag as she rolled a mouthful of the alcohol over her tongue until her mouth began to burn a little and she had to swallow. Really, this was none of her business…

She sucked a cool breath through her teeth with a low hiss.

 _Fuck it._  She'd put it all back before he returned. He wouldn't find out. And the inquisitive, questioning part of her nature just wouldn't rest until she took a look.

The clasps unfastened easily and she poured the contents onto the bed.

A slim black notebook. A small tablet in a leather case. And a manila envelope.

Pushing the other items aside, she grabbed the envelope and slid her finger carefully under the seal. She breathed a sigh of relief when it came away easily and she pushed her hand inside and pulled out the contents.

What she saw made her frown. Three passports - two US and one from the United Kingdom. With them, three driving licenses; all the same picture but three different names.

James Cook, from Illinois. David Jones from New Jersey. Michael Forest from London.

Quickly, she pulled open each of the passports - they matched the licenses exactly.  _What the hell?_

Her hands worked quickly and began to thumb through the notebook. Only two pages were filled. Each covered in a neat, swirling script. Dates. Times. Prices. Addresses.

Tossing the notebook aside, she flicked the switch of the tablet, silently cursing when it asked for a passcode.

Staring at the items on the bed she rubbed her hand over her jaw.

It didn't make sense.

Why did he have fake identities? Was he hiding something? Something illegal?

Why did she care?

She should just put all these things away and forget about it: get through the next 24 hours and leave with her cash.

And as much as part of her screamed for her to do this and not rock the boat, the side of her that craved answers just wouldn't let go.

 _Drink Emma_ , she told herself,  _have another drink._

* * *

The soft clunk of the door closing was her signal that he was back. She glanced at the clock - 3am. She stifled a yawn and pushed herself up against the pillows of the bed. She still wore his white shirt - sleeves rolled up about her elbows - and the soft comforter was gathered around her waist. In the background, the TV silently played some crime drama - the light flickered across the room as she sipped her newest glass of Jack.

"Oh," he said, surprised, as he stepped into the room, "I expected you to be asleep."

"I'm a bit of a night owl," she replied, softly yawning as he shrugged off his coat and began to unbutton his shirt.

"So it seems," he replied with a raise of his brow.

She watched as he peeled the shirt away, exposing the lightly tanned skin that covered his lean muscles. Emma couldn't deny he was in good shape - or that the covering of hair on his chest was so enticing and masculine she had a craving to run her fingers through it.

The silence between them and the darkness of the room made her feel almost voyeuristic. His hands quickly undid his belt and his trousers dropped until he was clothed only in his simple black boxer briefs. A ripple inside her stomach highlighted the heightened state of want that she had been in ever since she felt his mouth on her in the opera box.

Walking towards the bathroom he glanced her way and she caught his eye.

"Something you like?" he teased. That playful edge to him seemed to be returning.

Opening her mouth, she ran her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip, her eyes dipping as she blushed involuntarily.

"Actually," she said and he paused, "I have a question."

"Oh do you?" he smirked, leaning his arm against the door jam.

Quickly she took another drink before she met his eye again. "Who are you?"

"Who am I?" he echoed, his brow creasing slightly. Emma nodded.

"I'm a 34 year old salesman who finds blondes irresistible." He was trying to tease her. Pushing away from the wall he approached the bed.

"A salesman?"

"Yes," he muttered as he reached the bed and peeled the comforter away from her waist, exposing an expanse of long, slim legs.

"What do you sell?"

"What does it matter?" he muttered as he began to lay kisses up her leg, starting at her ankle.

"Well, I'm not sure… Maybe we should ask James Cook or David Jones or perhaps Michael Forest?"

Rearing back from her, he stood tall: one hand at his waist, the other rubbing the layer of scruff on his chin. "You've been looking through my things?" His voice was steady and cool but she could feel its icy edge.

"I wanted to know who I was dealing with," she replied nonchalantly.

"Dealing with?" He laughed softly.

"I can't work you out Killian Jones - or whatever your name is."

He ran his hand across his face, "Why do you care Emma Swan? What do you think this is? A relationship?"

Hotness flooded her cheeks, "Of course not," she growled softly, "And I don't care. But if there is something illegal going on I think I should know-"

"Are you listening to yourself? Illegal? What the hell is what we're doing? I don't see you hiding your services at The Velvet Rope, Emma. What - is it easier than trawling the streets-"

"How dare you, I - I—"

"And what gives you the right to go through my personal possessions? You know, I thought you were different but it seems I was wrong."

Her stomach sank as the accusations flew back and forth; she felt the cold fingers of regret grip her.

"You're just a common  _whore_."

Whore.

The word clung to the air as they both stared at each other.

Regret creased his face and his shoulders sagged.

"I'm - I'm sorry," he stuttered, "I didn't mean that."

She felt the tears prick at the corners of her eyes, the word was wounding and so true at the same time. That's what she was: here in a stranger's bed, being paid for her time - her body. This was what her life had come to.

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours. She wanted to apologize. Wanted him to take back what he had said. Needed him to crawl into the bed beside her and take her so that she could forget it all.

Instead he turned and she watched him open the dresser and pull on a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. He gave her one last look before he left the room.

Seconds later she heard the door shut softly once more.

* * *

Somehow she had fallen asleep. She wasn't sure what had happened earlier. The sleep was fitful and peppered with images of shame and regret.

It was still dark when she began to wake.

She could hear the sound of music coming from the other room - the soft sounds of a guitar strumming. She slid from under the covers and padded quietly into the living area.

_"And I wonder_

_When I sing along with you_

_If everything could ever feel this real forever_

_If anything could ever be this good again."_

It was Killian, singing: his voice was soft and melodic and _beautiful_. Her chest contracted as his soft, dulcet tones filled the room.

She stood in the doorway and watched him. He had taken off his t-shirt and he sat on the sofa with an acoustic guitar in his lap, slowly strumming out the chords - playing the song in a much more melancholy way than the original - much softer and slower.

Creeping closer, she stumbled in the dark. He turned his head and she caught his eye. They seemed glassy even from the distance. He looked sad.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," he replied.

Her heart raced. She rubbed her knees together anxiously.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, "For invading your privacy. I should never have done that. I guess I just have all these trust issues and-"

"Forget about it," he said, running his fingers over the strings, "It doesn't matter." He picked up the guitar and set it down on the floor. "And I apologize for what I said. It was out of line. You didn't deserve that."

The edges of her lips curved in a sad smile.

He reached up and began to rub the scar that crossed his right cheek. "Do you know how I got this?"

Shaking her head, Emma stepped a little closer and perched on the arm of the sofa.

"I was in a car accident. In New York. A taxi driver rammed me off the road - he'd had a seizure. Freak accident, the police said. Thank God I was wearing my seat belt. Got away with just this. But she wasn't so lucky."

"She?" she whispered.

"Milah. My fiancee. She'd taken off her belt to get something from the back seat. We were laughing - we were planning a vacation. Then it happened. She went straight through the windshield. Landed on the road," his voice choked up a little and he sucked in a deep break.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry…"

"You know what- she was so damn smart." He looked up and his eyes were shining at the memory, "She taught me a lot. She was older than me - almost ten years - she found me when I'd just moved to the States. I was bumming around, making small time cons, living in a studio with four other guys."

Emma tried to imagine the younger Killian - rough around the edges, living day by day.

"She was an art dealer - specializing in forgeries. Very, very good ones. She taught me the ropes - the contacts, how to get authentication. It was easy. Easy money. And of course I fell in love." He punctuated his little speech with a sad smile.

So much sadness.

"And then she died and I took over the business. So, Emma Swan, that is who I am. And James Cook, David Jones and Michael Forest are my guises. In my business anonymity is not only desirable but essential at times."

Emma nodded, trying to process all the information he had just given her.

"Any other questions?" he asked and she wasn't sure if he was being serious or flippant.

"No," she replied softly.

When he stood and took hold of her hand, she let him pull her towards him. She settled in his lap, straddling his thighs, her hands cupping the sides of his cheeks, rubbing her thumbs over them. He kept his gaze down. His brow was slightly furrowed. He was thinking of her - she could tell. His hands were grazing her thighs but his fingers were slightly clenched.

Reaching down, she took his hands in hers, easing her fingers into his, prying them open and interlacing their fingers.

"I'm sorry," she whispered again. Not sure if she was apologizing for herself or for what had happened to him.

When he nuzzled into her neck she moaned softly. His lips: soft, warm and inviting were the perfect antidote to the ache inside. They made her forget everything. Wiping her mind. Shuffling her hips closer to his, she enjoyed the way his mouth gently traced across her skin: lips brushing lightly, leaving moist trails, the way his tongue flicked out to taste her.

Brushing her face against his, her hands trailed up his arms, tightening over his firm biceps, glancing over his shoulders, running up his neck into the nape of his hair.

It felt good. It was needed. He seemed to be pouring out his pain onto her skin. Quicker, faster he began to nip at her with his teeth. She tangled her fingers in his hair, pushing him further against her skin, gently rocking her hips as she sighed.

The moment he tilted his head upwards took her by surprise. His lips glanced off the corner off her mouth - barely touching the pink skin. But it burned where they met. The skin tingled and throbbed.

He seemed to be testing her. He kissed her again - this time more of his lips encompassed hers - just a fraction more. Then he paused and she felt her heart straining against her chest.

Emma turned her head slightly and met him in a half kiss. The knot was back in her stomach. But this time it wasn't one of sadness or worry - it was one of hope and pleasure, tightening as they tentatively moved closer.

She was breathing so heavily it was all she could hear. His forehead stalled, resting against her own. His hands were now firmly at her hips, holding her tight.

With a jerk, she tugged on his hair and pulled his lips tighter, pressing them against her own. He moved against her, starting softly, gradually reaching up and easing his tongue between her lips until were fully entwined.

_The room was spinning, wasn't it? And why was it getting so dark?_

All Emma could feel was his hands and his lips and his heat and the pounding of her heart as he worked her mouth and kissed her like she'd never been kissed before.

Letting him take the lead, she acquiesced to him, bending and shaping herself to his will, letting him take her away from reality - if only for a moment.

She barely felt his hands reach for the shirt, but then it was being tugged open and she heard the tear of thread and the scatter of small buttons as it pooled around her shoulders. He didn't leave her lips as he let a hand scrape across her skin and begin to cup her breasts - rolling the nipples between finger and thumb, palming them gently and tenderly. She groaned softly into his mouth.

His hands moved to her hips once more and then they were rising and moving. She hooked her legs around his waist - he didn't stop kissing her. He seemed to be reveling in it and she couldn't stop either. She tightened her arms around his neck and almost - almost - for a second she let herself forget everything. Pretend that he was hers and she was his and that things were simple.

So she let him take her to bed and peel off her shirt.

She let him brush away the strands of hair that ran over her face.

She let him kiss her again and again and again.

She didn't stop him when he reached for a condom and settled between her legs.

She looked in his eyes as he pressed inside her - and saw pain and hope and someone desperately trying to forget - just like she was.

She held him tight as he rocked his hips and made her ache with satisfaction. No dirty talk. No mutterings. Just silence punctuated by soft breaths and the motion of skin against skin as she arched up into him and let herself just feel, not think.

She let the motions overtake her, she was like a boat bobbing on the sea, letting itself be taken along… Until she began to fold in upon herself as he buried his head in her hair and the sweat began to pool on his back and made her hands slide over his shoulders. And she was just falling over the edge of sanity when she was sure the heard him whisper, "Emma… I love-"

But the rest was lost in the haze of bliss and even as she came to and let him swaddle her body with his own, she brushed it off as a figment of her imagination.

Because who could ever love Emma Swan? Let alone an almost stranger.

_**Review? Thank you!** _

_**(Lyrics from 'Everlong' by the Foo Fighters)** _


	5. Echoes

**_Thank you to you all for all your reviews, messages and Tumblr comments. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_ **

**_Ten years earlier_ **

_"Emma. I love you. You know that, right?"_

_Staring down at the threadbare carpet, her eyelids fluttered as she tried to hold back a tear. Her fingers were wrapped around the cheap cellophane of the gas station flowers he had thrust into her hands minutes earlier. Behind her was the table she had spent so long arranging - the candles were lit, the silverware she had polished gleamed in the soft light and the little red hearts she had cut from a magazine were scattered about over the scratched and worn table._

_Drawing in a breath, she managed to nod slightly. Turning away her head so he wouldn't see how close she was to crying. "Yeah. I know…"_

_"And you know if there was any way I could get out of this-"_

_He was at her side, one hand on her waist and the other tilting her chin to face him._

_"I understand. It's …business."_

_"Yeah, business,"he smiled, leaning down to give her a quick, dry kiss on the cheek._

_"Wh-what about dinner?"she asked with a slight stammer, digging her fingers into his flannel shirt, tugging him closer, wishing he would stay._

_"Aw babe, you eat without me. Put mine in the fridge. I'll have it later."_

_Snatching another kiss, he quickly pulled away and picked up his backpack that was lying on the floor by the door._

_"Later?" he nodded._

_"Later,"she sighed as he slipped outside._

_Then, she let the tears fall._

**Present Day**

Hot, scorching waters soothed the aches in her body while the bubbles that tickled her skin softly crackled as they disintegrated in the moist air.

The room was filled with thick steam: the mirror had become opaque with condensation and she could see the slight marks where the maid had cleaned it. Every breath she took was heavy and battled against her throat. Her hair was beginning to curl a little round her face the longer she laid there.

She wasn't sure how long she had been soaking, but she was in no hurry to leave. This little oasis of peace and harmony was her time to just be. And she relished it.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"May I come in?"

An unexpected smile lit up her face at the sound of his voice.

Waking up that morning, curled in his arms, the sunlight on her face. It had felt, well, good.  _He_  had made her feel good.

And that hadn't happened in a very long time.

"Sure," she called out, picking up the small pink razor that she had requested from reception that morning and beginning to work at her legs.

He gave her a cheeky smile as he sauntered across the room. He was still naked. Neither of them had bothered to put on any clothes, save for the robe he had wrapped around himself when room service had arrived earlier. At the sink he began to brush his teeth: his back to her, giving Emma a fine view of his toned back and ass, each peppered with faint red marks where she had clawed him the night before.

Biting her lip, she tried to look away. Her cheeks were blushing (and she hoped it was hidden by the damp air) and her stomach was already doing flips as she felt that desire for his body rise again. Distracted, she began to make quick strokes with the razor, letting out a soft hiss when she nicked her ankle.

"Typical woman," he teased, "No good with a sharp implement."

He curved around, arching his back until he was looking at her with a mixture of amusement and arousal, toothbrush in hand.

"Think you can do a better job?" she goaded, swinging the piece of pink plastic between her fingertips as she raised her brows.

He ran his tongue between his lips then replaced the toothbrush onto the marble countertop, replacing it in his hands with a small can of shaving cream. Then, slowly, he sauntered over to her, sinking to his haunches and taking the razor from between her fingers.

Emma lifted her leg out of the still water and rested her foot on the thick rim of the large, oval bathtub. Pulling off the cap, he squeezed a handful of mint scented cream into his hands, rubbing it between his palms before gently easing it over the exposed skin. She let her eyes close at his touch, his fingers applying light pressure that created a massaging action that sent pleasurable pulses through the muscles of her calves.

When her leg was coated with a thick, white layer he took his hand and cradled her foot - his fingers curling under the arch while his thumb ran over the bones of her toes. Gently, slowly, he brought the blade to the just above her ankle before softly pulling it up her leg, clearing a path through the foam that covered her skin.

Reaching her knee, he started again; he had to lean over her a little to reach. She felt his breath cooling her skin where it peeked through the bubbles. His hand moved from her foot to her ankle: tipping her leg higher as the blade danced along her skin.

It shouldn't feel so good, she thought, it shouldn't feel so…intimate. But the sensation of him sliding the razor down her legs was increasing the heat between them, and that familiar ache was starting press against her stomach.

Pausing, he slid his fingers down the top of her shin; it was smooth and glistened in the low lighting of the room. He bent forward and began to lay a trail of kisses along the angled edge of the bone. His lips dragging along the damp surface and she began to shudder slightly - little trickles of pleasure inching down her spine with increasing speed the longer his lips remained in contact with her skin.

"You are so, so beautiful Emma," he muttered between kisses before turning back his head to look at her, "Do you know that?"

She felt ambushed by his beautiful blue gaze, and her eyelashes began to flutter a little in a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. How did he make these lines seem so sincere?

Inside her mind Emma was conflicted - to let him continue, to allow herself to get wrapped up in the moment…it seemed wrong somehow. But at the same time it felt so good. His touch was addictive. She wanted him to never stop: wanted him to crawl into her skin so she could always feel him...

Her hips tilted and she thrust her waist upward until her breasts began to peek out from the cover of the bubbles. When he spotted the pink of her nipples, he set her leg back down and reached over and began to palm one soft breast in his hand, gently kneading and massaging the flesh as he continued to run the razor up her leg. Methodically he worked, quick, light strokes traced by soft finger touches…

Heart racing, she chewed on her tongue, stilling the urge to moan - but still the build-up of electricity and tension in her stomach continued and her other leg began to curl up under the water and her hips began to rock back and forth.

Fingers started to trail again: up the inside of her leg, beginning mid-calf, gradually pushing higher, tingling every inch of skin as they moved. Then the warm softness of his mouth latched onto her nipple. She couldn't help but cry out. The gentle lapping of his tongue, the way he lightly rolled her hardened peak between his teeth was too much. She gave in.

With one hand, she grasped his bicep while the fingers of the other tugged on his hair and held him close to her chest. Working one breast with his mouth, his hand circled the other - just as the fingers that were working up her thigh suddenly reached her core and began to slip inside her - one, two, three…She squeezed her thighs together. It felt so good and tight as he started to arch his fingers into her - his mouth becoming more aggressive of its ownership of her breast. The water was lapping against her body now and she felt so alive. It was though she were lying in the surf at sunset - and he was the sun, warming and radiating her body with his heat.

And Emma wanted more.

The fingers in his hair tugged harder, until his mouth was on hers. She pulled on his arm until he was sliding over the rim of the bath, slipping into the large tub until nothing but a slick of water lay between them. His body glided over hers, lubricated by the soap and it felt divine: soft and fluid. He was pushing closer. She could feel the hardness of his cock where her leg and hip met and she just wanted him. Now. Then.

Frantically, she reached down and wrapped her fingers around his length. Long, hard and heavy - almost familiar now in its balance and feel. She squeezed him tight: enjoying the way he moaned in her mouth and plunged his tongue deeper. Slowly she stroked him - mimicking the motion with her hips - levelling the base of his erection so it rubbed against her clit and made stars begin to appear at the edges of her vision.

And it felt so good. And she just couldn't wait.

Titling up her hips, he slipped easily inside and the warm, filling sensation pulsed through her-

He started, pulling back so their eyes met - she took a few heavy breaths, scrunching her brow - not answering his unspoken question, instead wrapping her legs around his hips and drawing him so deep inside her she thought she would cry in pleasure and urging his lips back to her own.

Rocking against him, she blocked out the thoughts of  _stop - no - don't_ -

They weren't strong enough to break past the want. And she wanted this.

He met her rapid thrusts, his ass bucking out of the water with wanton abandon - the feel of naked flesh against naked flesh, spurring them both on, past regret and into pure pleasure. She could feel him moving inside her. Loved the way he tilted his hips and changed the angle. Burned at the feel of his breath on her neck as he nibbled on her ear and his fingers gripped her waist - slipping because of the water so he had to grip tighter and she knew it would leave a bruise.

His hips were thrusting harder too - the bones thrashing against her thighs.

The motion, the water, his breath, his hands-

Then he started to whisper in her ear.

How much he wanted her, how good she felt, the way it felt to be inside her, the pleasure of being able to  _feel_ her-

And it was all too, too much…

She fell apart around him. Her fingers curled and dug into his back. Her toes tightened and her legs twisted together and crushed him against her. Her neck arched back as she let out a tightened moan as he slammed into her one last time-

And he stiffened and cursed and his hands began to slacken as he followed her climax with his own until his head came to rest on her shoulder.

Then as the throbbing waves of pleasure began to cede, creeping regret began to replace it.

She shouldn't have done that.

**Ten years earlier**

_The water was cold._

_She wasn't sure how long she had been there. Minutes? Hours?_

_She had been staring at the same spot on the wall for as long as she could remember; a crack in the plaster work that was blackened with the dank mildew that clung to almost every surface and made her breath catch in her throat and her chest ache._

_She traced its jagged line with her eyes as it snaked across the wall and branched into two._

_Her mind hummed. It was playing some song from the 80's that had been on the radio that morning when she had driven to work - some sickly sweet upbeat ballad that she couldn't remember the name of but couldn't shake all the same._

_She shivered._

_She really should get out of the water…_

_Tired, her eyes dropped and landed on the little plastic stick on the edge of the rusty tub. Two blue lines striking across the small plastic window in the middle._

_How did this happen? She had been careful. Well, most of the time._

_They weren't ready. Hell, she wasn't sure they ever would be._

_And where was he? He had been gone hours._

_Her stomach churned and she felt sick. The water was beginning to sap what little heat she had left from her body and her teeth chattered._

_She should get out._

_But instead, she stayed still. Staring again at the same crack in the wall…_

**Present Day**

"You're very quiet," he commented as she wrapped her hair in a towel. Perched on the side of the tub she had her head down. He was stood by the vanity, a towel low slung around his hips as he watched her.

"That was not a good idea," she whispered.

'Perhaps not…" he admitted. "Do we need to-"

"I take the pill so don't worry about that," she sighed, she lifted her head and looked up - she knew the edges of her mouth were turned down.

Emma Swan didn't do that. She hadn't been that intimate with a man, since, well -  _him. Neal._

She squeezed her eyes to block out his name.

"Look," he began softly, moving forward until he was sat next to her, "Perhaps it wasn't the smartest thing. But I don't regret it. I trust you, Emma."

She smiled briefly. She understood his meaning.

"I don't - I don't do this, you know. Ever."

"Neither do I-" he replied quickly, kissing her shoulder.

 _Stop being so nice!_ Her mind screamed.

Stiffening against his kiss, she tightened her grip on the towel.

"I - um, I think I need some fresh air," she muttered.

"Do you want to go for a walk?" he asked.

Her face was slightly crumpled as she looked back at him, "I'd rather go alone. I won't be long. I just feel…"

Killian's expression seemed to harden, his jaw tightened and his brow became heavier. He nodded, "Of course."

To Emma it sounded like he didn't understand at all, but she ignored her doubts and slipped into the bedroom to pull on some clothes.

**Ten years earlier**

_The door slammed._

_She shook herself and rubbed her face with her crinkled hands - pinched from soaking in the tub for so long._

_She grabbed a towel and hurried out into the bedroom, pulling on her robe as she made her way along the short hallway to the living room._

_He was home, but something was wrong. His hair was a mess. His backpack was open and he was running around the room tossing in random items._

_"Honey, what are you doing?"_

_Looking up, he didn't smile. His dark eyes looked wild and his chest was heaving._

_"Nothing, nothing-"_

_He continued to search the room. He grabbed the small silver frame that held their first picture together - in a photo booth at Coney Island. They had been happy then._

_He tossed in a fancy lighter, a heavy marble ash tray. Random things._

_"Neal…" she began. Her heart was racing. Something was wrong._

_"I said nothing is wrong," he snapped. Roughly he tugged on the zip and bounded over to her, grabbing her neck and pulling her into a hard kiss._

_"Neal-" she murmured in protest._

_"I gotta go out again. Just for an hour."_

_"But you just got home-"_

_"And I gotta go out again," he repeated, wrinkling his brow as he stared down at her. Another kiss on the forehead. He thought kisses made everything better._

_"Okay," she sighed as she watched him slip out into the night._

**Present Day**

Inside is was much warmer than the ambient temperature outside and she tossed off her coat quickly once he opened the door, her skin already burning where the cool wind had whipped it.

"You were gone a while. I was worried."

"Sorry,"she mumbled, as she pushed past him, tugging off her boots as she walked.

"Emma-"

His hand was on her arm. She stopped. He walked around until he was facing her. He smelled like soap and soft cologne. In his plain white t-shirt he looked so handsome she wanted to look away. Because it was pointless to continue that train of thought. This was what it was - no matter how lovely and beguiling he was at times.

"What is wrong?"

Her eyes glanced around the room as he let go of her arm.

"Did I do something?"

She quickly shook her head and tears pricked at her eyes. She could never make him understand.

He rubbed his thumb under her chin but she still couldn't look at him. He and stepped backwards until he was sat on the back of the sofa, hands on his knees.

"I know you better than you think, Emma. I recognize that look in your eyes. You think you hide it well, but, it takes one to know one."

Her interest piqued, she looked up but didn't speak.

"I get it. I do. Someone you cared about hurt you, didn't they?"

Emma pushed out her bottom lip in a semi-pout. She wasn't going to cry.

"So now you push everyone away. Because it's easier."

"It's not easier,"she whispered, bringing her hand to her mouth.

Pushing himself up, he moved closer again. "Do you even have any friends Emma? Any family? Anyone?"

 _No, no, no,_ she wanted to cry. She was alone and that was the best way because it was  _safe._ Even it was hard. It wasn't as hard as having your heart torn in two.

"You know, you wear your pain like a badge of honor," he muttered,"It's a warning to all to stay away," turning away from her and looking out of the window.

The words stung. Emma knew their truth, but to see an analysis of her character laid out there so plainly was wounding. She sighed and pressed her eyes closed."But you didn't."

"No,"he smiled, "I guess I didn't. Because I want to know you. To get inside that mind of yours and see what makes you tick. What made this beautiful woman so broken."

"You really want to know? I let someone hurt me," she replied. Sinking to sit on the couch, she rubbed her forehead with the palm of her right hand, "More than that. I was  _destroyed_  by another person. I never want that to happen - to feel like that - again."

"Don't you mean you never want to feel anything again?"

"If that's what it takes," she admitted.

"That sounds like a very lonely life, Emma."

"Yeah, well it's my life. I can do what I want with it."

Her words were meant to be gentle, but they came out slightly bitter and acidic. She saw the way he flinched back from her and she wanted to reach out and say she didn't mean it. Ask him to start over with her. They could talk. Maybe she could tell him-

But no, that was a dumb idea.

"Of course," was his simple reply. But within the two simple words was wrapped a sliver of hurt and the sound of walls being raised again between the two.

"How about dinner?" he asked with a smile.

He'd given up.

She felt relief life a weight from her shoulders. She knew he would if she pushed hard enough, because that's what Emma Swan was good at - pushing people away.

Nodding, she gave her approval.

Not allowing herself to dwell on the stinging regret which lingered in her mind.

**Nine years and four months earlier**

_"Emma, are you sure you want this? It's not too late to change your mind."_

_The pen in her hand was shaking, the tears in her eyes were blurring her vision._

_"Yes. I want it. I can't be a mother. I don't know where his father is- I can't bring a child into a life like this."_

_"But you'll be out in a month, Emma. Then you can start anew. With your son."_

_A son. He looked so much like Neal. She couldn't bear to look at his face._

_The face of the man who had abandoned her. Left her in an apartment laden with stolen goods. Left her to be sentenced as an accessory as he ran away to God knows where…_

_"No. I can't. Please, please, just make sure he gets a good home,"she whispered as she signed her name, the letters blurring a little as a tear dropped onto the paper._

**Reviews are very much appreciated!**


	6. Feel

**This was originally going to be longer, but this is heavy on the feels so I will save the next part for the next chapter...**

Silences don't have to be either awkward or comfortable.

There is that strange middle ground where the parties involved are both lost in their own singularity and not indulging in analysis of their lack of discourse.

So this was how the evening had passed between them. A quiet dinner in the restaurant below the apartment-hotel. Soft lounge music eased away the minutes, occasionally peppered with the scratch of silverware on porcelain or a comment on the food or wine.

As she ate, regret rolled over Emma's shoulders and hugged her tight around her middle. Long forgotten emotions were being dredged up from where she had hidden them and she felt her stomach squeeze into waves of nausea as she tried to push down her salad.

Thoughts of her past - mostly Neal and the baby - weighed heavily on her after she had managed to keep them hidden for so long. It was the first time she had indulged her memory in months. Usually she managed to keep these feelings locked up inside as she moved from day to day. Perhaps it was because she had been given time to think this weekend. Or perhaps it had something to do with him.

Emma fidgeted in her seat as Killian paid the bill. She looked across the table through her thick lashes as he smiled at the waiter before rising. He seemed as much lost in thought as she was: maybe he was angry after their earlier conversation? She couldn't tell.

"Let's go," he said. It wasn't a command or even a request. It was an empty statement - resigned almost. Her stomach twisted as she thought back to how she had spoken to him that afternoon. The past few days had turned into such a mess.

So much for easy money, she mused before following him as he left.

* * *

Sleep was fitful.

She wished she had just gone.

He hadn't touched her when they had returned. After a quick shower she had found the room dark and Killian lying facing the window. In silent acknowledgement, she had slipped under the cool covers and tried to sleep.

But she couldn't. Her mind was too full.

She hated herself. This wasn't anything new to her, but it seemed harsher in the unfamiliar surroundings of the faceless hotel room.

For years, each passing week seemed to have added a new item to the list of things Emma Swan regretted or loathed about herself. She seemed to be sliding down a slippery slope of becoming something she'd rather not dwell on.

Yet the searing pain that rose when she thought about her son was the hardest pain and far worse than any self-loathing. It mingled with the still bitter rejection of  _him_.

Feeling hollow and flat, the swirling anxiety was making her head ache.

Giving up trying to sleep, she grabbed a pillow and trudged over to the window, curling up into a ball on a chair as she watched the twinkling city lights.

* * *

"Emma?"

 _It's still dark_ , she thought, through the haze of sleep.

"Are you okay?"

Prying her eyes open, she turned in the direction of the voice.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed. Hair mussed from sleep. He was looking at her strangely, though she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.

"I couldn't sleep," she whispered, feeling all the irony in her managing to drop off while twisted up on the chair.

He rubbed his face. "Come back to bed."

He slid under the sheets and moved until there was enough space for her to crawl in beside him.

Quietly she followed, pulling the blanket up and slipping her hands under the cool pillow.

When his arm came around her waist she gasped, heat flashing over her skin as he tugged her back against him.

"Shhh," he murmured, "Relax."

His face was buried into her neck, nuzzling through her hair. His thumb began to rub the bare skin of her stomach. The muscles in her stomach contracted quickly as she froze in his arms.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  _This was becoming regular thing_ , she thought wryly.

"Why?" he whispered into her neck.

Really, she ought to shrug this off. She knew that. Just make an excuse and drift off. Instead, she rolled to face him, shifting in his arms until they were face to face.

Every breath she took seemed heavy and loud. His hand was on her hip now, the other arm stretched out beneath her head.

"I'm just… sorry," she repeated, giving him a weak smile. "This isn't quite how I pictured this turning out-"

"Me either," he quickly added, his voice low and soft, his fingers dusting up and down over her hip.

"I guess I wasn't the greatest investment."

"I wouldn't say that," he smiled. And she smiled back; for the first time in hours the mood lifted and that little fight going on in her mind paused briefly. "I don't do this, you know?"

"Do what?" she asked.

"Go to strip clubs. Find…women that way-"

She blushed deeply, shame flooding her. She felt cheap and nasty for a moment. That's what she was, some woman from a strip club. So that's what he thought of her…

"But somehow I felt this urge to go there. And then-"

"-And then…" she echoed, her eyes dropping.

Hell she hated herself in that moment. How had she come to this? Selling herself - for a dance or something more - had seemed such an easy way to make money. But now it felt like the hardest thing in the world.

"Why are you this way, Emma? I wasn't lying when I said you intrigued me. I saw it - still see it - in your eyes."

The intimacy of the soft bed and dark room lulled her into a hazy sense of security.

"I don't like talking about myself," she admitted quietly. She took a few more soft breaths before continuing. "You were right. I have no family. No real friends. But it's fine," she quickly added.

He didn't say anything at first, just looked at her. Those blue eyes roamed over her face and asked questions of their own.

"Talk to me," he urged in soft tones.

The nerves were making her fidget. Restless legs came into contact with his and were quickly entwined as she chewed on her lip. The soft hair of his muscular legs was strangely comforting as they wrapped around her calves.

"I'm not a good person, Killian. I'm bad news." Her words spoke of self-loathing and bitterness.

"Why?" he pressed gently.

Emma rubbed her forehead against the pillow. The arm slung under her neck curved around to wrap around her shoulders and she stiffened again at his touch.

Slowly sighing, she let him draw her eyes to his again.

"I've not talked about this for years. Years," she emphasized, raising her brow, "But I guess since in a few hours I'll never see you again  _and_ I've been the worst investment you've ever made-"

"Shhh," he hushed, pressing his thumb to her lip.

Suddenly all she wanted to do then was hit him in frustration - all his fake tenderness and care! She hated how some people could so easily lie and fake emotion…  _Neal,_ her mind screamed. Because, seriously, who could give a damn about her? Her real parents hadn't - leaving her outside a hospital. Her foster parents had just seen her as a money pot. And every man she had ever got close to had taken what he wanted and ran away.

Yet still she had an overwhelming urge to let this out before it tore her apart.

"Talk."

So she let it all spill out.

"I was young. And naive. I let this guy - Neal - well, he played me. God I was stupid." Her brow creased, "He was some petty criminal and he kept letting me down. All the time. And I let him do that. Over and over." She squeezed her eyes shut until his hand started to stroke her shoulder and the tension at the base of her neck started to fade.

"He skipped out. I ended up in Juvie when the police raided our shitty apartment and found what he'd left behind."

The memory was so strong, the sick feeling that had consumed her when was sentenced came back as fresh as that day. That anxiety that had pervaded her when the bailiffs took her down to the cells began to consume her. She could smell the stale urine and tobacco that hung in the air in the basement of the court and remembered how helpless and alone she had felt.

'And?" he asked. He was teasing the details from her. He knew there was more to her story.

"And…ever since then I've drifted from one shitty job and one shitty guy to another. Until I decided that I make the decisions in my life, and I decide what's best for Emma. So I do what I want, live how I want and it's best if other people stay out of my way."

Frowning, she raised her fists to his chest. The corners of her eyes were damp. Her mouth was pinched. Killian still held her silently, both hands slowly stroking her skin.

"And…" she sighed, dipping her head, "I had a son. It was his."

His fingers tightened and she heard him sigh, "Emma…"

"It was a long time ago." She shook her head, "I gave him up for adoption." A brief smile flickered as let herself remember his face - his big brown eyes and curl of fine hair. "I tracked him down a few years ago. He's happy, I think. He was adopted by a good family…"

"But that's not the point," he whispered as silent tears started to run down her face. "Come here," he said as he pulled her close and for once she didn't protest. Instead she let her crying dampen his chest and his arms hold her tight.

Letting it all out hurt. She had not talked of him in over ten years. The private eye who had tracked him down had drained her savings but she needed to know he was safe. And happy. That she had done  _something_ right.

But the hollow emptiness inside was still there and with his arms around her she let herself indulge in self-pity and regret; let herself cry and hurt and be angry.

"You're not a bad person, Emma."

"How would you know?" she sniffed into his chest.

"I told you before. I get you. We're alike, you and I."

She rubbed her damp eyes with her hands. "So you think you know me, then?" she replied with a small laugh.

"Actually, I think I have  _more_ questions than I had before about you."

Looking up she saw his soft smile. His eyes were crinkled at the corners. One hand rose and he started to ease her hair back from her forehead.

"But the one thing I know is you _are_  good."

Emma wanted to laugh. Push him back and roll out of bed. Just tug on her jeans and run away.

Because  _was he serious_?

His expression was soft, mouth curling slightly, a tiny crease between his brows as he stared intently into her eyes. And despite herself, she decided in that moment - just for that moment - she would believe him.

"You're the first person to ever say that."

"Well you've  _clearly_  met a lot of stupid people, Emma."

Her soft little chuckles filled the air at his attempt at a joke.

"I don't regret this weekend," he whispered, catching her by surprise while his fingers curved around the base of her neck.

She closed her eyes and just let herself feel. Soft fingers dusting over the nape of her neck. The warmth of his body radiating against her. His breath as it swept down the small gap between their bodies and tickled her skin.

"Me neither," she admitted.

Her mind was still raw from all her earlier introspection. But the spiraling of her thoughts towards lower and lower depths stopped as they lay together.

And, wanting to stretch this moment out that little bit longer, she arched her back and reached her lips up to his. Strangely he hesitated for a second. Doubt clouded her mind - was he rejecting her? Did he not want her now - after what she had said? Did he-

Those thoughts were cut short by a kiss.

Initiated by her, fired by him. Fingers threading through her hair, her arms looping around his neck, pressing their bodies tighter together as they spoke unspeakable words with their lips and tongues.

Her arms pulled him closer and her fingers twisted in the simple silver chain around his neck.

With a gentle push, he was rolling her onto her back and cupping her head in his hands. Briefly he nudged her face with his nose and layered kisses along her cheek while she wrapped her legs more tightly into his.

It had been a long time since she had indulged in just kissing someone. Perhaps not since she was a teenager, in fact. Things were quicker now, when she bothered to find a man for the night (just the night). Kissing is a luxury when you have an itch to scratch.

But now she enjoyed it. The way his tongue slid over hers, almost lazily, caressing her mouth - almost lovingly - whilst his fingers traced the curves of her face. Occasionally he would rest his forehead against hers and she could feel his eyelashes fluttering against her skin and the pounding of his heart against her chest. And she just wanted to pull him closer and build a memory of what it might be like to have someone care for her.

Because Emma was under no illusions. They were two lonely, somewhat broken people sharing in a moment where they could ease each other's pain. It was almost therapy, she briefly thought. Until his hands slid down her back, making her arch upwards, and under her underwear, dancing over her ass and squeezing it gently.

"Mmm," she moaned into his mouth.

He picked up his head and met her eyes - silently asking for permission, slowly rolling his hips into hers so she could feel his hardness.

And strangely, it didn't feel all about lust. It didn't feel all about sex. It was something else… A need for a connection with someone - something real and nice in the midst of a fucked up life.

She helped him slide her panties down and wordlessly wrapped her thighs around his hips. Still he paused and nudged his face towards hers.

"Make me feel. One more time?" she asked quietly.

His eyes sank closed, as he pushed into her. So slowly she could feel every moment as he advanced, opening her up like he had her secrets. Crossing her ankles she pulled him closer and ran her lips along his jaw, tightening her muscles around him as she just let herself indulge in sensation.

It took a rocking of her hips to urge him to move. Slipping back and forth, just tiny movements, but each one was so intense she thought she was cracking apart from the inside out.

Then his thumb was circling her clit and warm fingers of delight were shooting along her limbs and curling in her belly. Something was building inside her, almost lazily. Each thrust she met with a roll of her hips. Deeper. She wanted him deeper and harder and more-

"Oh Emma…" he whispered.

A slick of sweat spread over them. She kicked off the covers with her foot and took to gripping his shoulders, digging in her nails until he opened his eyes.

Quickly, something passed between them. A thought. A  _feeling._ She bit her lips and swung her head to the side.

It was too much.

With his palm, he pushed her face back to his.

"Look at me," he urged.

All she could do was breathe.

It was far too much.

Suddenly she could feel him everywhere. From the tips of her toes to the base of her neck. Her limbs felt loose and numb. Light heat bubbled inside her.

 _Oh God_ , then he was kissing her again.

It was far, far too much now.

Every sense assaulted, she couldn't move.

He was kissing her harder. Her mind was swirling.

He felt so damn good, pushing inside her and holding her tight and making her feel like she might actually be worthy of this kind of care and attention…

Until her release sparked. Her breath came in hitches. He thrust harder and she cried out. He was shaking as he came, face against her neck. "Emma," he panted while his hands dug into her hair.

"Killian," she whispered, as immediately tears came to her eyes.

So this was what it could be like.

Though he was pressing against her with his full weight, she felt shallow and light - a mere imprint of her earlier self who had been weighed down with the worries of the world.

She recorded the moment. The feel of him against her. The blank satisfaction of her mind. The dim morning light. The feel of the cotton sheets. The sound of his breathing.

She wanted to remember.

* * *

The door shut quietly.

Her heart raced as she crept away down the hallway, aggressively pressing the elevator call button as she looked over her shoulder. Finally the doors swung open and she fell inside.

Selecting 'L' she pulled her coat tighter and dug her hands in her purse. Just her phone, a lipstick and her wallet. She thought back to the envelope thick with cash that she had left on the bureau and hoped he would find it. And maybe even understand.

As soon as she arrived in the lobby, she dashed quickly out into the cool light morning air, running away as fast as her legs could carry her.

**Reviews are more appreciated than you could know...**


	7. Chapter 7

Taking a long, slow drag from the cigarette, her mouth filled with the hot, slightly bitter smoke. It flooded her lungs, warming her a little from the inside out. She held the breath for a few seconds before exhaling - the smoke swirling together with her condensed breath and clouding around her face.

 

Fine drops of sleety rain fell from thick grey clouds. A sharp wind whipped around the parking lot, the icy air prickled her skin, numbing it. But the alcohol in her veins had rendered her immune to any sensation other than numb bliss. She ignored the frost eking through her thin denim jacket and concentrated on enjoying her cigarette. 

 

Laying against the back door of The Velvet Rope, she shut her eyes to stop the swaying sensation. The world was twirling around her, pounding her brain against her skull in a dull rhythm. Feeling lightheaded she brought the filter back to her lips and inhaled.

 

“Emma.”

 

Eyes flashing open, she froze. Slowly she parted her lips and became once again consumed in a cloud of smoke, giving herself a second to think. _What is he doing here?_ She looked down, concentrating on tapping filter of the cigarette, tiny embers of ash sprinkling to the ground where they quickly fizzled into darkness.

 

Footsteps approached and her stomach lurched to one side.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked flatly, still keeping her gaze fixed on the ground. The asphalt was still damp from the earlier rainfall and the security light above the door cast little reflections in the pooling water that stung her tired eyes.

 

Another drag. Another mouthful of dry, hot air. Her tongue felt numb and thick like dry cotton wool.

 

“I didn’t know you smoked.” His voice was soft and quiet.

 

“I don’t,” she replied, finally looking up as she expelled the breath she had been holding. “But I find a Marlboro goes quite well with a glass of Jack.”

 

The longer she was outside in the clear, winter air, the more the alcohol she had consumed began to take over. Her skin flushed hot and reddened. Her head felt foggy and light. A giddy, reckless sensation settled over her.

 

“You forgot this,” he said, holding out a familiar, thick envelope.

 

She caught his eyes for a second: steely blue and boring into her almost expectantly.

 

“Keep it,” she sighed, dropping the remaining half of the cigarette onto the floor and stubbing it out under the toe of her black, heeled boot. Flashing him a last glance, she turned and walked across the dimly lit parking lot. Quick paces were made more difficult by the rising wave of tipsiness that was overcoming her limbs. Her legs felt heavy and within seconds she had stumbled and landed knees with a soft thud.

 

“Shit,” she muttered. The uneven surface dug into her skin and tiny crumbs of the asphalt clung to her palms as she started to push herself back up. 

 

A firm hand slipped under her arm and hauled her back to her feet. Once standing, she shook him away and rubbed her hands together, brushing away the little stones from her skin. “Thanks,” she whispered with a harsh reluctance.

 

He lifted his hand again and pushed the envelope towards her. “Here. Take it.”

 

Narrowing her eyes, she let her forehead wrinkle into soft furrows. The stack of money in front of her was making her feel physically sick. It was a reminder of all she was and all that was so disgusting about Emma Swan. Pursing her lips, she spat, “I said keep it.”

 

“We had an agreement. It’s yours.”

 

“Well, things change,” she replied wryly. Finally, he slipped the envelope back inside his jacket and they stood in awkward silence.

 

Rifling in her jeans pocket, she pulled out a bundle of jingling keys and started to move away with small, fast footsteps until she reached her car, a faded red Ford with duct tape holding down the hood.

 

His hand was on hers, pulling the key from her grasp, before she could slide it into the lock.

 

“You are not driving in this condition.” 

 

Pivoting on her heel, she found herself pressed back against the side of the car, one of his hands lay against the window as he leaned over her. “You’re drunk.” His breath was warm and he smelled familiar. A tingle crept down her spine and her heart began to beat rapidly.

 

The way he looked at her was confusing. She wanted to be angry, though she wasn’t even sure why. But his eyes locked with hers and the anger dampened in her throat. He looked serious, concerned even. Sucking in a breath she snatched her gaze away to the darkness behind him.

 

Frustrated and tired, she tried to retrieve the keys, “It was just a few glasses of Jack. I’m fine.”

 

As she spoke, her knees gave out and she fell against his warm, firm chest. Briefly, he was holding her: his fingers tightly gripping her arms, her face nestled in his neck, soaking in his smell of musky cologne and soap. It was safe, comfortable and slightly disarming. She wrestled herself free before the sensation could settle.

 

“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow and she sank back against the cold metal of the car.

 

Chuckling lightly, she twisted her head to one side and glanced at him through a veil of dark lashes. “Why are you here?”

 

“Why do you think?” he retorted, parting his lips as his eyes roamed over her face, not giving anything away.

 

Hot little sparks were rising a flush on her cheeks. An answer rose in her throat, but she quickly choked it down. His gaze was intense and it scared her, so she closed her eyes instead of thinking about the meaning behind his words.

 

Finally, he continued, “But it’s a good thing I am. Come on, I’m driving.”

 

A part of her wanted to protest and tell him where to go - to leave her. She had put their few days together in her past now. It was just a memory. And his presence was taunting her. But she was too tired and drunk to really argue, so grudgingly she gave him a small nod and walked around to the passenger side, letting him slide into the drivers seat.

 

§§§

 

“Just park here,” she mumbled.

 

She was curled in a ball on the seat, her hair wrapped around her face, her body fully consumed with the after affects of too much whiskey.

 

The car rolled to a stop in front of a row small, single story houses. Each one painted a faded, yellowing white, with a small sinking porch and a sparse patch of grass outside.

 

“Home sweet home.”

 

Before she could stop him, he had left the car and opened her door, his hand was at her waist and he was helping her up.

 

“Stop,” she moaned weakly as his arm tightened. Her head fell against his shoulder, fatigue rippling through her in heavy, throbbing waves.

 

They stumbled up the short path, her face pressed agains his shoulder, his fingers wrapped in her belt loops, holding her up: all the way she muttered about how he should leave her, go away, stop…

 

Reaching the door, she fumbled with her key until she noticed a laminated red sign taped over the door.

 

_Eviction Notice_

 

The rest of the words blurred and her head pinched as she thought of last months missed rent. “Crap,” she spat, banging her fist against the peeling paint of the door. “You can’t do this!” she cried, “I have rights!” 

 

As she continued to slam her hands against the door, the sound of a neighbour’s dog barking began to fill the silent night and a few lights began to flicker in the neighbouring houses.

 

“Emma, stop,” he soothed, his hands were now on her shoulders, squeezing gently. It felt good.

 

“My house… My things…” she sighed, eyes squeezing closed and a single tear rolling down her cheek that she deftly wiped away before he could see.

 

“It’s late. We’ll fix it tomorrow.”

 

“We’ll?” she asked, turning to look at look at him.

 

“You’ll. Whatever.” He shook his head, “I’m not leaving you here to freeze tonight.”

 

A moment passed. He was so close - memories of the last night they had spent together came flooding back, mingling with her drunkenness and creating a heady state being where she almost forgot for a moment how they had ended up at this point.

 

“So what now?” she pushed, knowing what he was going to say. Already realising she had no choice but to say yes.

 

“Come back with me.”

 

Wide eyed, she bit her lip.

 

“No strings. You can have the bed.”

 

After a few slow breaths she finally nodded, allowing him to direct her back towards the car and slipping into a deep sleep as they drove away.

 

§§§§§

 

She felt weightless yet heavy at the same time.

 

Flashing between darkness and bright lights.

 

Hushed voices and then silence.

 

§§§

 

Yawning, she awoke to the sensation of her shoes being slipped from her feet.

 

“Hmmm,” she groaned, stretching against the soft surface on which she lay. Her jacket was gone and the bare skin of her arms danced over the silk-like cotton sheets that had grown somewhat familiar to her.

 

“Shhh,” he hushed, “Just sleep.”

 

Her eyes darted open and she looked quickly from left to right - the events of the last hour flooding back as her head began to pound. “Oww,” she groaned, pushing herself upright and rubbing her head with the palm of her right hand. “How long have I been out?”

 

“About an hour,” he replied, pausing as he hovered over her. The light form the bedside lamp cast a shadow over half his face. The soft glow wrapped around the high curve of his cheekbone and blanched the earthy tones of his skin into paleness.

 

She had missed him. She wasn’t sure why. But, in her hazy state of consciousness, she knew that much was true.

 

“Thank you,” she whispered, a practiced reluctance lacing her words.

 

“Ah, so you can say something nice?” he teased and she couldn’t help but smile.

 

“Only when provoked,” she quipped, wrestling her body, until her legs hung over the side of the bed where she dangled them loosely, watching her toes rock in little circles over the carpet.

 

“So…” she began, though not quite sure how she would finish her sentence. As sobriety descended so did awkwardness. The dynamic between them had changed. What they were two days ago no longer existed. And they certainly weren’t friends, of that she was sure. Unfortunately, she didn’t know what that left between the two.

 

He preempted her by opening his closet, and pulling out yet another gleaming, white shirt. “Here - to sleep in,” he added, as though the gesture was not clear. Meeting his eye, she nodded. “I, um-“ he cocked a thumb towards the bathroom and she watched him slip into the en-suite and turn on the light.

 

Emma peeled off her shirt, jeans and underwear. The relief of freeing her body from its entrapments was palpable. Her skin sighed at the freedom and she soothed her fingers over the little red marks where her jeans had dug into her flesh as she slept.

 

The shirt he had given her was clean and crisp and smelled like hotel laundry. She briefly wondered if he ever had to take care of himself - domestically that is. In fact, where did he live? Did he have a place of his own, somewhere in another state.

 

Squeezing her eyes shut, she focused her mind. Sleep. She needed sleep. Then tomorrow she would try and fix things with her landlord. Daydreaming about a handsome stranger (who she scoffed was probably just trying to take advantage of her) was not helpful.

 

The soft whoosh water falling told her he had turned on the shower. The gentle rhythm was soothing and simple. Her mind wandered again. 

 

As the water slapped and dripped, she saw him lathering his skin with the creamy bar of expensive soap, fingers slipping up and down the lean muscles of his arms and across his lightly hair covered chest. She bit her lip, remembering what it felt like pressed against her own. So good. So… safe. 

 

Perhaps now he was running his fingers through his dark hair, pressing his forehead against the cool tiles of the wall, steam filling the space around him. Was he thinking of her? One hand on the tiles, was he reaching below to that growing hardness that she knew was never far away - was he touching himself and imagining her, in his bed - pretending it was her fingers, her lips - her, around him.

 

Emma’s heart was racing. These thoughts were running wild. She couldn’t stop them. Damn, she was sure it was the alcohol, or the nicotine…

 

Her eyes sank closed.

 

It was a nice distraction, after all. 

 

A warm buzz descended. Imagining him. Imagining her.

 

She curled up her legs to her chest, her lips twisted in a silly smile.

 

It was nice to pretend, she remembered. It had been her favourite part about being a kid. It was okay then to live in a world where your rules applied and none could take that from you. As an adult, you were not afforded the same discretion. Letting your mind run wild was strictly an activity for the privacy of your private moments.

 

Lost in thought, she started when the bathroom door opened, and with it came a burst of moist, hot air.

 

She flipped over to face the door. He had a towel hung low around his hips and with another he was rubbing his damp hair. “Hi,” he said softly. A little smile on his lips.

 

Her stomach flipped as she took him in. Soft eyes. Damp skin. That muscular v leading to his groin - all kinds of tempting…

 

“You want-?” he gestured behind him. She shook her head, rolling to sit and pulling her knees to her chest.

 

As he went about the room, her eyes followed. He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of pale blue pyjama pants. With his back to her, he dropped the towel and pulled them down. glancing back at her as he pulled them over his ass.

 

Her cheeks burned. He knew she was watching.

 

Silently, he picked up the towel and returned it to the bathroom, flicking off the light and closing the door. “Goodnight,” he nodded, turning to leave.

 

“Killian-“

 

The words were out before she even knew they were rising.

 

His head swung around and his steely gaze met hers. Something dropped in her chest and throbbed in her throat. Sucking in a deep breath she let the words spill out, “It’s a big bed. I can share.”

 

The way he raised a brow made her smile. That cheeky way he had of looking at her sometimes made her want to laugh.

 

( _Since when did he had a way at looking at her,_ she thought absentmindedly.)

 

“You sure?”

 

“Uh-huh,” she nodded. Though she wasn’t really sure. 

 

Not waiting for his response, she slid down under the covers, kicking them over her legs and turning over onto her side. The curtains were open and she had a familiar view of the night sky, lights stretching into the distance.

 

Soft footsteps, a slight groan as the bed shifted under his weight then a radiant glow of warmth. 

 

Instantly calm descended. It felt wonderful having another body so near ( _his body,_ her mind whispered).

 

Willing sleep to fall, she took deep breaths and balled her fists under the fluffy pillow. It was too thick and her neck was twisting in an awkward angle that hurt her back. She tossed the pillow away and then lay on her bare arms.

 

She was acutely aware of him. The expensive mattress perfectly balanced the weight of the two, but she could still feel herself slipping in his direction.

 

“Mmm,” he mumbled, as his arm scraped against her thigh. His fingers left a warm trail on her skin.

 

Slowly, she rolled around to face him. 

 

His eyes were closed, his damp hair slipping over his brow. His face was clear of expression, just dark lashes and brows punctuating clear skin. 

 

“Killian,” she whispered, unsure if he was awake.

 

“Yes,” he replied, opening his eyes just a little.

 

“I’m cold,” she lied.

 

Silently, he bundled her in his arms and she was pressed against his chest and it felt good. Instantly her muscles began to loosen and she nestled against him.

 

§§§

 

Soft and gentle.

Fingers in her hair.

 

Damp kisses on her forehead.

 

She squirmed in pleasure.

 

One hand on her back, pressing her close. Lips finding her mouth. Eager, hungry kisses.

 

“Love…”

 

_This is a dream, right?_

 

Curving her body, chests pushed together. Arms around his neck.

 

A kiss on her shoulder, teeth biting. Her toes curled and eyes flashing open. Her leg wraps around his hip, drawing him closer.

 

Then a hand is under her shirt, sliding over her stomach, just grazing her breast and she wants to cry out-

 

“Milah-“ he sighed.

 

And she froze and looked at him.

 

He was dreaming.

 

Heart pounding, she gently pushed him away, rolling him to the other side of the bed. “Go to sleep Killian, “ she hushed, her fingers rubbing over the damp spot on her shoulder and her own sleep descending.

 

_Or was it a dream all along?_

 

_§§§_

 

She rose early, picking up her clothes and slipping them on in the bathroom. The decision to leave, again, had been made before she had even awoken.

 

“What are you doing Emma?”

 

She had almost made it.

 

“Nothing,” she lied. Again.Turning around she looked back at where he sat on the bed, sheets pooled around his waist, hair all mussed up and sexy in that way that only guys seemed to manage.

 

“Don’t lie,” he sighed.

 

“Fine. I’m leaving,” she admitted.

 

“Why?” 

 

She ran her tongue around the outline of her lips and sunk her hand onto her hip. Rubbing her toe against the carpet, she tried to think. 

 

“I can take care of myself,” was her weary response.

 

“Clearly,” he muttered.

 

“Hey,” she spat, “I never asked you to come looking for me, to ‘like’ me, to try and rescue me-“

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he retorted, sliding from the bed, his chest heaving, “I am not trying to ‘rescue’ you-“

 

“Coulda fooled me,” she quipped, bitter regret flooding her veins with every tumbling word, “I’m not some princess who needs a man to take care of her.”

 

“You’re a piece of work - you know that Emma?”

 

Stony faced, she looked past him, folding her arms.

 

The walls were rising. She’d let them down for a little. And it had felt good.

 

But now they were back, and back with a vengeance. 

 

“Have you ever considered that someone could _actually_ like you? Be interested in you. As a person.”

 

_No,_ she thought.  _“_ You don’t even know me,” she muttered, shifting awkwardly on the spot, squirming under the spotlight of his gaze.

 

“At this point, love, I think I know you better than you know yourself.”

 

“You’re awfully confident for someone who called me by his exes name last night.”

 

“What?” he cried, face twisted, “But that was a dream, it was-“

 

Pulling down the neckline of her shirt, she showed him the purpling bruise his lips had made on her skin. “Not a dream,” she replied.

 

Stepping closer, he reached for her arm, “I’m sorry-“

 

“It’s fine,” she spat, tumbling backwards towards the door, “Just don’t try and fix me when you are clearly still fucked up yourself.”

 

Her words stung. His face crumpled a little and his eyes closed. She’d hit a nerve. For a second she faltered.

 

Bringing his hand to his face, he pulled it across his light beard before rubbing the back of his hand under his chin. “Aye, I suppose I am.”

 

Emma backed out of the room as he stood silent. She started to turn as she passed the doorway.

 

“But you know what Emma?”

 

“What, Killian?” she asked, in a bored tone.

 

“At least I’m not afraid of real intimacy.”

 

Scowling, she stepped back into the room.

 

“What the hell does that mean?”

 

“You know exactly what I mean.”

 

The two stared at one another, eyes locked, chests rising in time.

 

“Sex? Is that what this is about?”

 

Killian shook his head, his eyes dimming until he turned away.

 

“It doesn’t matter,” he sighed.

 

And she wanted to ask what he meant. She really wanted to know. But pride made her swallow the words and instead she slunk out of the room and tumbled into the darkness again.

 

 

 

 

 


	8. Head First

**The smut is back...**

Stark realization hit her the moment she stepped  out  the door.

_What the hell was she doing?_

Her heart was a boulder in her chest; heavy and solid, pressing painfully against her ribs as vice-like tightness squeezed her lungs. Through the veil of her eyelids, the harsh lights of the corridor flickered - seemingly as though in perennial judgement of her.

_Emma_ , they whispered,  _you_   _dirty, pretty thing_.  _Never letting anyone in. So cold. So lonely_ …

Forcing aching breaths down her throat, she turned and dipped her head against the doorframe. A headache was forming between her eyes.

She always did this. Every damn time something positive appeared in her life she pushed it away and ran as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

Regret began to trickle through her body, like water through rock - slowly and surely filtering into every fiber of her being. Her shoulders sagged, the tension that strung across them breaking harshly like a snapped piece of wire.

It was all too much. 

Life for Emma Swan had been simple until  _he_  came along and made her think and consider that things could be different.  _Maybe_. That time when all she wanted was enough money in her pocket to move back East and forget this place seemed so long ego - yet it had been less than a week.

Cursing him, she wished he had never come into the club. Never offered her a drink. Never asked for a dance. Never offered something more.

But he had, and now her head hurt and she wished she could take back everything she had just said and walk  back  in there and let him hold her in his arms and make her feel something.

Because she was realizing that for the first time since  _him_ , she had lowered the walls she had built to protect herself - for the briefest of moments - and let someone in. And it had felt scary and painful but she couldn ’ t deny it felt good, too.

Like an addict craving a fix she wanted more.  She could gloss over the fact he had held her and  whispered another woman’s  name because the way she felt when he ran his hands over her skin and pressed his mouth against hers was like she was on fire: alive, really alive. All senses sparking at once.

All strength began to leave her limbs and she started to feel cold and weak. The fever in her had gone and only Emma was left.

Just then, the door swung open.

Surprised, she lifted her head and tilted it to her left.

Her eyes landed on his chest - it was rising and falling in a quick rhythm. 

A high pitched buzzing began to echo in her ears. 

Slowly, she rolled her gaze up his chest - lingering on his collar bones, then the scruff of his neck, that sharp line where the dark stubble ended abruptly and trailed up to his hair where her eyes lingered on the artful disarray that sleep had arranged it into.

She couldn ’ t look at his face.

Her lower lip began to tremble.

_He didn_ ’ _t want her to go._

Her breathing hitched and wavered.

“ Don ’ t go. ”

And there they were. The words that she didn ’ t know she wanted.

“ I... ”  she began. But the words died on her lips. 

Brow pressed into furrows, she let herself look into his eyes and drown in their blue depths. The edges of his lids turned down slightly, as if he were in pain.

Had she caused this? Did she really affect him? Did the things she said in a fit of pique make him look at her like that?

“ Stay. ”

The word was softly spoken, but laced with an undercurrent of expression that speared her straight through the center of her chest.

“ Why? ”  was all she could ask, her voice cracking, a pained smile stretching over her lips.

Silently he took a step into the hallway and she turned to face him. His hands swept over the sides of her face, easing back her hair and settling with his fingers tucked behind her ears and his thumbs arched over the shell of each ear. Such a simple gesture, but her heart ached.

Then his forehead dropped to rest on her own, and warmth flashed down her body.

He nudged his nose against hers, she could feel the heat from his breath dancing over her skin and a tingle tumbled  down  her spine.

“ Because I don ’ t want you to go. ”

Gingerly, she lifted her hands and placed her palms flat against his bare chest. He raised his head and she slipped easily against him.  She nestled into his arms - wrapped tight around her - and  let herself relax.

Tiredness overwhelmed and she yawned softly.

“ Come on, ”  he whispered, softly kissing her forehead and scooping her up in his arms.

 The world was a haze as he carried her back into the apartment. 

 

* * *

 

Her body  relaxed : each muscle  loosening  and the of her bones stretching against him while he cradled her to his chest and she hummed in satisfaction. 

Those soft lips of his brushed against her forehead - bright flashes of cool heat prickled her skin and she dug her fingers tighter around his neck: holding on for dear life. She was scared to let go in case this wasn ’ t real. Her imagination jumped to the worst conclusion, that Killian was just like every other guy who saw her just for one thing.

“ Relax, ”  he whispered as he sank to sit on the bed with her in his lap. She hadn ’ t  realized  she was  beginning  to tense  up  again.

Releasing those  thoughts, she looked up at him She gazed up into his disarming blue eyes, drowning in their depths. Enchanted, she felt she could spend hours just staring at their mysterious depths and never figure decipher their meaning.

Just then she wanted to ask him:

What was going on?

What  _were_  they?

What did this mean?

Yet instead of talking she smiled. Brightly, happily: like she hadn ’ t smiled in years and it felt good.

Reciprocating, he quickly leaned down and she pressed her mouth to his, melting into the kiss like this was where she belonged. Warm and light, his fingers began to thread into her hair, whilst his other hand pulled her closer to his chest and she murmured into his mouth.

“ Killian …”

“ Shhhh, ”  he whispered.

She balled her fists whilst nudging her chin against her shoulder in a nervous gesture; all the while he held her so tight she almost couldn ’ t breathe. She could feel herself pulling away: scared.

“ But what...”

Her words were stopped short with another kiss. One that said _let_ ’ _s think about this later_. Let ’ s just  _be_  in this moment.

For a second she  hesitated, fear  holding her back until something flicked inside her, like a switch, and the doubts were gone.

_Later,_ she told herself,  _you need this._

Effortlessly, he rolled her body down to the bed, never parting from his kiss, the hand at her waist pulling at her shirt and slipping against the skin of her stomach until she cooed in pleasure at his  gentle, wanting  touch. He touched her like she was precious and unique.

Then it flashed before her. That night. When he thought she was  _her._

“ Wait, ”  she panted, hand grabbing his shoulder, a furrow emerging between her eyes,  “ I don ’ t want to be - I ’ m not-  _her._ ”

The words failed her, but the understanding glint in his eyes was instantaneous.  “ Emma …”  He pressed his eyes closed for a second. The way his face tensed in pain and regret was clear for her to see. She reached up and drifted her thumb over his eyelids and across this brow  until  the edges of his lips curled upwards.

“ Okay, ”  she replied to his unspoken statement. Knowing that this moment was not the time and that was something for later.

His breathing came in short breaths.

_Later. That was for later_ …

And now was  …  now.

Her thumb moved to slide over his lips and he dipped his head closer to hers.

“ Kiss me? ”  she asked. Quietly. Plainly. No expectations or demands, just a simple request - a want that needed to be filled and he was the only one who could.

As he pressed his lips to hers, she was toeing off her shoes and letting his kisses drift her away and make everything fade into darkness yet light at the same time. She wrapped her legs around his waist and arched up into him. Close. She wanted to be close.

Clawing at her shirt, she pulled the fabric to expose her skin and he knew what she wanted. Skin on skin. Warm flesh touching.

He peeled the material away then she pressed her chest to his until he lay her back down and their eyes met: his hips gently rocking and his fingers trailing over the bare, goose pimpled skin of her arm.

“ What are we doing? ”  she asked. Really, not knowing - not expecting an answer.

Sliding his arms under her waist, he hitched her closer.  “ Honestly? ”  he asked,  as  she widened her eyes,  “ I don ’ t know. ”

A smiling kiss pulled him to her. 

She didn ’ t know what this  was and neither did he.  Somehow  - that made this okay. 

For now anyway.

Killian layered soft kisses over her face, an innocent distraction while his hand worked it ’ s way under her bra and she hummed at his warm touch and rough skin.  “ What do you want? ”  he whispered into her ear.  His thumb brushed over a nipple and desire sparked through her.

“ _You,_ ”  she replied.

It slipped from her lips before she had time to think and the truth was undeniable. Yes she wanted him. So much. It was a craving. She wondered if he understood.

Fingers worked at the button of her jeans and slipped down the stiff zip of her fly. Gliding over the thin lace edge of her panties she gasped, her stomach muscles  clenching  as he got closer to where she needed him. Which was crazy - he had touched her more intimately than that before.  _But t_ _his time felt_ _different_ her heart whispered.

Hovering a few inches above her face, watching her reaction as he slowly pressed down her underwear, his fingers circling the light layer of hair, gently dipping into her warmth as her mouth formed a soft  ‘ O ’ .

The veil of tension over her body began to tear as he touched her intimately. Slowly and cautiously circling her damp heat - keeping his gaze locked on her, watching her responses.

She ground her hips into the bed as he worked his way deeper. Peppering his movements with vague whispers and fingers caressing her cheek. Her hands pressed her jeans down as he worked.

Soft breaths danced over her face. He was so close that with a tilt of her head she could touch his lips. He nudged his face against hers and she flushed hot.

“ Oh Emma …”  he sighed, his lips reaching down, his teeth grasping her lower lip and rolling it hard enough to be just on the edge of pleasure and pain. His thumb was circling her clit and his fingers curving to that one spot which made her vision darken and glower with bright white sparks. She tried vainly to fight the overwhelming feeling he was eliciting - clawing at the walls and reaching for lucidity until a shot of pleasure dashed through her and she came with a soft sob at his neck.

Dampness rolled down on her cheeks.

She was crying? When did that happen ?

Before she had time to think, he was kissing away the tears, soaking up the salty trails with his lips whilst she hugged her arms around his waist.

“ We can stop. Sleep. ”

But she didn ’ t want that.

Gently she pushed his shoulders, he moved to her side. She stood, kicking off her jeans, nudging herself between his legs that hung over the side of the bed as he laid back and watched her move.

She paused. Letting her eyes roam his body. The sharp bones of his hips that rose above the cotton of his pants, the strong, rounded shoulders that reached up to an elegant, yet masculine, neck.  She gazed at t he broad plane of his chest - it ’ s light layer of hair and lean muscles, the silver chain around his neck and the slow rise and fall as his lungs filled. By the time she reached his face, she was balling her hair in her hands, piling it on top of her head, biting her lip as doubt flickered.

“ I mean it, we can...”

She stopped him by grabbing his arm so he was sat upright and dragging his face to meet hers. She released her hair and it tumbled like a cloak around them. Her fingers were in his thick, dark locks while his hands  slid  up her back, unhooking her bra. Kissing and tearing at each other - a tangle of lips and hands. His tongue running down her chest, cherishing her bare breasts, a hand slipping under her panties and cupping her buttocks as her lips rested on his forehead in heavy, moist breaths.

Something was awakening inside her. She felt free - wild even. No expectations. No promises. No regrets.  She was going to grab this moment and not let go.

His lips peeled away from her skin and she gestured for him to stand. Keeping eye contact while she slipped down his pants, sinking to her knees and effortlessly taking his hardness in her hands.

“ You don ’ t...”

She stopped him with a glance, running her tongue over his tip,  “ I want to. ”

And she did. His heavy weight in her hands was warm and hard, yet soft like silk. She lavished him with her tongue first, running circles that elicited soft little moans. Her heart soared at the power. She wanted to show him what he meant to her. How she felt.

Gentle teeth danced over him as she sank him deeper until he was touching the back of her throat and she began to bob her head. The way he began to rock his hips towards her sent a shiver of pleasure and excitement through her body.  He tasted so good on her tongue - like man and sex and desire. She reached a hand down to touch herself as she became engrossed in her task. Dipping, twirling, applying just the right amount of pressure that had him gasping.

“ Bloody hell. Stop...”

He was panting. When she looked up, his eyes were dark and he tugged on her shoulders  steering them backwards...  a second later she was pressed against the bathroom door.Those large hands roughly clawing at her body, his mouth nipping at her skin. The cool surface of the door made her spine tingle and she was barely aware of him pulling down her underwear as she became lost in the moment.

He was hitching one leg around  her  hips, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of her neck, she could feel his tip just at her entrance – rounded ,  firm and teasing. Pivoting her hips, she coated him in her arousal and he growled against her.

“ Are you sure? ”

She responded by tightening her arms around his neck, pulling his hips closer whilst raising her other leg until  she  sank down on him.

“ Oh Killian, ”  she moaned, relishing every inch of intimate contact as they joined together.

“ Say my name again, ”  he begged, every so slightly rocking his hips, his fingers digging into her skin as he held her tight pressed against the door.

“ Killian, ”  she whispered into his ear. He swore softly, increasing his speed, circling into her. She wanted more  pushing  herself tighter against him, melding them together.

“ Again, ”  he whined. His brow was breaking out in a sweat. The dampness where their bodies joined was so delightfully fluid she wanted to stay in this moment forever - the way he was stretching her,  achingly , filling her.

She jolted her hips, digging her nails into his back.  “ Killian, ”  she panted, chanting it almost like a prayer,  “ Killian, Killian. ” 

Each word was louder than the last. Each one urged him faster. She was slipping against the door and he dug his knees forward to support them, so each thrust was pressing her harder against it until she felt the small bones of her spine bruising as he pushed into her.

“ Tell me how it feels. ”

In that moment she couldn ’ t deny him anything.

“ Burning, fire, aching - oh aching so good Killian. Take me. Take me away, please... ”

Then he was puling her up and a second later she was on the soft bed again. He reached over her, a hand on each side, plunging deeper as she felt herself float away.

“ God Emma, do you know how much I love this? You feel so bloody good. I knew you were different, the first time I saw you, I knew...”

His words ended with a groan whilst he sank to his forearms. She wrapped her fingers in his chain, pulling his forehead  to hers. His thrusts rapid, urgent, desperate. Eyes locked, each became mute, watching the other as release unfolded and she came around him just a second before he fell apart into a boneless heap on her body.

Silent, shaky breaths filled the air. Her fingers lazily traced over the skin of his back as she stared at the bare white ceiling. Her mind was numb and empty - emptied by him and them and whatever was going on.

Because she still wasn’t sure - in fact she was probably further away from knowing than ever. 

So she simply kissed his forehead and eased her way under the sheets, wordlessly he followed, pulling her into his arms and cradling her close and they both fell asleep as the sun begun to rise.

_Reviews and feedback are my motivations! Thank you to all of you who have taken the time to comment on this story. I love you all!_


	9. Carpe Diem

**Another huge thank you for all your follows and reviews! And also a shout out to my beta, Ztofan, who makes this all possible!**

Warm rays of sunshine shone on her face and she couldn't help but smile and look up at the duck egg blue sky that peeked from behind the buildings above. She felt light and free: her shoulders were pinned back, the air was sweet and clean, and for the first time in as long as she could remember, her mind was at rest.

No buzzing worry, no niggling fears, no sensation that something must be about to go wrong…

It was strange.

Relishing in the sensation, she turned to look at the tall, handsome man walking beside her. His strong features were all the more apparent in the bright light and she felt a little leap in her stomach when he turned and gave her a wink. A bright, sparkling laugh bubbled up her throat and her smile became broader.

They continued walking along the busy street. All around were commuters hurrying to work, cabbies vying for fares, newsstands hawking papers: the normal sounds of a Tuesday afternoon. But for Emma this was no ordinary Tuesday. It marked just over 24 hours since he had stopped her walking away. Twenty-four hours in which she had thrown caution to the wind and let this almost stranger closer than she had let anyone in years.

That first night they had lain together, bodies entwined, breathing in time, her head on his chest - everything quiet and still… It all had felt so normal and natural: like they had done this a thousand times before. They ate breakfast in bed before lying together and just talking. About movies and books and travel and philosophy. He'd surprised her with his quiet wisdom and dry wit. She, in turn, had amused him with stories of the terrible jobs she had had in the past. Together they had fallen asleep that night on the couch while watching a movie, covered in a blanket, the TV silently playing to itself.

The morning had been spent negotiating with her landlord. He wanted double the rent to let her back in. Emma had shouted. He had threatened to call the cops. Killian had cooled the situation - offering to loan her the money to pay her past due rent and help her move until she could find something else. She'd agreed, with just a little cajoling, and together they had quickly packed up her belongings and loaded them into his car.

Currently his apartment was stacked with cardboard boxes and shopping bags filled with clothes and trinkets and kitchen supplies. She'd promised to find someplace else to live within a day or two; he smiled and told her not to worry.

As they reached an intersection, his fingers brushed against hers. She blushed fiercely as he trailed his fingertips around her hand, circling her palm before entwining her hand in his. His warm, slightly roughened palm felt strange and unfamiliar pressed against hers. He squeezed her hand tightly as the lights let the pedestrians cross. Walking across the road the surface seemed to disappear beneath her feet - she became weightless, almost dizzy. Pulling her closer he dropped a kiss on her forehead as they reached the pavement.

"See you at seven?"

"Yes," she smiled, tugging him down into another kiss, "Seven at O'Malleys for drinks."

"That's right," he laughed, snaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to him tightly, "Or we could just, you know, skip the drinks…" his lips found their way to her neck and started to lay a hot path down to her shoulder.

"Killian," she whispered, biting her lip as flashes of heat coursed through her. Squeezing her eyes shut, she slowly pushed him back, "We really ought to spend some time together actually in public."

His eyes downturned in a fake puppy dog look that had her shaking her head.

"Oh if you insist," he sighed, taking hold of her hand and placing upon it a soft, warm kiss. He trailed a finger lightly over her jaw, staring deep into her eyes for a moment: a moment where everything else melted away, the air became quiet and still, time seemed to stop. "You're lovely Emma, do you know that?"

The words took her by surprise. She blinked a few times and narrowed her eyes. He seemed to perceive her shock and he dropped his gaze.

"I'm sorry, I mean, I'm not trying to-"

She stopped him with a kiss. A simple, almost chaste pressing of closed lips together- pressing their faces together with her hand cupping his head.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear.

No, she didn't believe him, but the fact he thought that about her, made her feel hopeful that one day she could.

* * *

"So…" Ruby cooed. The brunette lay back against her chair taking a sip of her latte.

"So," Emma echoed, averting her friends prying look by playing with the fastening on her purse.

"Details Emma, I need details! I don't see you for a week and when I finally get a call from you, you're living with some guy?"

"We are not living together!" Emma hissed, dropping her head closer to her friends.

"Um, well you just said all your stuff is in his apartment-"

"He's just helping me out." Emma stopped to open up a packet of Splenda and stirred it into her own milky coffee before replacing the spoon to her saucer with a gentle clink.

"Em, if you needed help you could have stayed with me-"

"In your one bedroom apartment with you and Victor going at it, at all hours? No thank you…"

"Fair point," she conceded, 'Bur seriously, what's going on?' Ruby stared across the small round table, her lips curving, tongue running over her red lip, raising her brows until Emma cracked and let out a laugh.

"Okay, I'll admit it. I do like the guy. He's… different. But he's only in town for another week. It's just a thing."

"A thing?" the brunette sassed, taking a bite of her biscotti, "Most of your 'things' are out of your bed before the sheets are warm. Come on Emma, you're not telling me everything."

Emma swallowed a mouthful of warm, milky coffee then peeled off her coat.

Ruby was her oldest friend in Seattle. They'd met when they'd waitressed together five years ago and she'd never lied to her before.

"Fine. He- he was a client."

"A client-" Ruby began, before her voice died in her throat and a flash of recognition crossed her face. "Oh."

An awkward little silence spanned the table. Ruby knew about Emma's job and she knew she sometimes took on 'extra' work. But she'd never liked or accepted it. Emma felt small and uncomfortable and squirmed against her seat - the hard glossy wood suddenly feeling like it was tipped with a thousand tiny spikes.

"Em-"

"Ruby I know what you are going to say and you don't need to. I'm stopping it all. No more dancing. No more anything else…"

"Is this because of him?" she asked.

Nervously, Emma ran her fingers through her hair and played with the strap of her purse. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, "I just - I just think it's time for a change."

Her friend smiled and reached out and took hold of her hand. Ruby's touch was soft and her smile was warm, "Good. I've told you a million times you're worth so much more than this. So I'm glad - whatever your reasons." Her brows arched and her eyes softened, crinkling a little at the corners.

"Thank you."

The server brought over two slices of lemon cheesecake and they each started to eat, forking the crumbly cake into their mouths as Ruby regaled Emma with her latest sexual exploits.

"Don't you guys ever run out of things to do? Surely even the karma sutra has a final page," Emma laughed.

"If you run out of ideas, you're not using your imagination," Ruby replied with a wink. "And on that subject, spill. This guy - what's his name again?"

"Killian." Emma blushed as she said his name, a soft little flutter teasing her belly.

"Cute name. Anyway, I need details."

"It's good."

"Just good?"

Emma wriggled in her seat and shuffled a little closer, looking around to see if anyone was eavesdropping. "Okay it's fucking fantastic. Like nothing I've had before."

"That's more like it."

"He's just so - so…" Emma couldn't put her finger on what it was that made him so different. "I don't know what he is. But his accent is goddamn pure sex…" She let a memory of his voice slip over her for a second: he was saying her name, repeating it like a prayer. "But like I said, it's just a temporary thing. He's off back East on Monday."

Ruby gave her a pointed look, pausing with a forkful of cake halfway to her mouth.

"Haven't you told me a million times that you want to move back there some day?"

God Ruby knew her too well. She cursed her friend and all her infallible arguments.

"Yes…"

"So? It's perfect, hot rich guy, lives where you wanna live, clearly likes you-"

Emma sank the rest of her coffee and licked her lips before shaking her head.

"What Emma? What possible reason could you have for not going for this? You deserve some happiness-"

"Ruby, you know me. I'm not the relationship type. I like to be alone. This is nice, for now. He's a nice guy. Actually, he's lovely. But that's it. Now can we please change the subject?"

Her friend gave her a wary glance before gesturing to the server. "Okay Emma. If that's how you want it."

And with that, the conversation about Killian Jones was over and Ruby began to chat idly about the vacation she and Victor were planning. Emma didn't listen -couldn't listen. Instead she nodded and hmm'd at the right moments. Instead she couldn't stop thinking of Killian Jones and trying to come up with reasons to let him go.

* * *

_Almost a week later_

Warm, damp lips trailed over her stomach and she squealed. Her shirt was pushed up around her middle, her knees raised and feet flat on the mattress. He lay nestled between her legs, fingers gripping her waist as she rolled into his touch.

"You're tickling me," she laughed - his scruff rubbing over her skin as he pushed higher until her shirt was lifted over her bra.

"And I like it when you laugh, so that's why I'm doing this," he quipped.

She let her head roll back and spread out her arms, giving herself over to him. "Do your worst, Jones."

"Oh I love a challenge, Emma."

Her t-shirt bunched around her neck as both hands pulled down the soft cups of her bra. Her nipples began to harden in the cool air and she tightened her thighs around him, grinding up against his growing hardness just enough to tease him.

Suckling against her, one hand cupped her breast while the other undid her fly; the fingers sliding under her panties and making her gasp as they dipped into her damp folds.

"Killian," she moaned, grabbing his hair with one hand and pressing the other in the space between his shoulder blades. His t-shirt was thin and she could feel his lean muscles working underneath as his fingers started to curve into her and his thumb found her clit. "Damn it," she sighed.

His tongue lapped against her breast, then sucked harder, teasing her nipple into a stiff peak and making her press her chest closer to him. Pulling away, he ran his tongue down her breastbone and stomach, hands tugging down her jeans as he did.

She let her body go limp. He slid her to the edge of the bed and dropped to his knees. She knew what was to come and she tensed in anticipation. He toyed with her. Kissing her knees, her thighs, along her hip bone. His fingers traced her folds. He blew hot, steamy breaths over her core.

 _Helpless_. She was helpless to his actions. But she loved it. Craved it. Desired it. Thought herself going mad - until he relented and brought his mouth to her.

He lavished her with attention; bringing her to the edge with practiced skill that had her cooing and shaking.

Then he peeled off her shirt and stripped off his own clothes. She let him lift her body back to the bed - still buzzing from her orgasm. She watched from the blissful haze as he settled between her legs and kissed her shoulder.

When he looked up at her, his blue eyes sparkled, his lips were bruised a deep red, sweat glazed his cheeks. God she-

_What? She what? What did she-_

Then there he was, teasing at her entrance and her mind went blank. He was pushing back strands of hair with his hand, using the other to sling her thighs around his waist.

God he went deep. She hugged her legs around him, urging him closer. She was consumed by him. He was rutting into her oh-so-gently, the motion was almost undetectable. But hell she could feel it. Every little movement had her stomach rippling and the veil of desire that had fallen over her eyes thickening and making everything around her fade into darkness.

A quick layer of sweat appeared as their two bodies became pressed together and she hungrily kissed him. Wanting him everywhere.

_Because, maybe, this would be the last time she'd get to feel him._

This sudden realization gripped her heart and sent a cool panic coursing through her veins. Tomorrow he had to leave. Tomorrow he was going. Tomorrow she would be alone again.

Her body protested and rocked with him. They moved in synch - pressing and rolling and shifting just enough to draw out their pleasure. The build was slow, every sensation magnified as he took her with such care and ease she actually wanted to cry for some reason.

_But she knew, it was because it had never been this way._

He kept surprising her. Showing her more. It had never been like this. How could every time be a revelation? It was like he was learning her body like an instrument; discovering new notes and tunes to play with every passing day.

A constant, rhythmic pace continued. She didn't know for how long. Time seemed to disappear briefly. She looked into his eyes- those beautiful blue eyes that she had become so attached to. He brought his hands to cup her face, his hips circling, whispering sweet encouragements, placing little kisses on her forehead.

It was so gentle. The build was slow and almost painful. She was fit to burst when he nudged her hips back so he could thrust that bit deeper, that bit harder.

When her release hit, she strained to keep her eyes open. Her gaze stayed trained on his as she let out a mumbling curse that had him chasing his own orgasm: his brow crumpling and his fingers tightening as he cried one little word, "Emma."

xoxoxoxoxo

Sitting on the vanity in the bathroom, she watched him shave. He pulled the razor down in slow, measured strokes, leaving a path of clean skin as he rinsed the blade and repeated the process.

"I like the beard," she sighed, lying back against the mirror.

"Me too," he smiled, "But sometimes I need to look a little clean cut."

"Ah yes, work…" her voice trailed off sadly. She looked at her watch, it was 8am. He'd be leaving soon.

"What time is your flight again?" she asked, trying to sound disinterested but failing miserably.

"Eleven," he replied flatly.

Silently she nodded. A dull little silence descended, punctuated by the scratch of stubble against sharp metal. "You know I never really thanked you. For everything. And you know I'm going to pay you back-"

"Emma I've said don't worry about it." He paused and turned to look at her, "And remember this place is paid for until the end of the week so…"

"So…" she nodded.

He returned to his task, tackling that little tricky spot below his nose and wincing when he nicked the skin. "Here, let me help you," she whispered, taking the razor from his hand and nudging him between her legs.

With small, quick strokes she sliced through the thick stubble. Beneath his skin was unfamiliar - soft and light. He looked younger, more innocent perhaps. She tried to focus - not to let his closeness disarm her, not to be affected by the feel of his body close to hers.

A feeling was bubbling in her throat. Something that had lain dormant for days now. It was unfamiliar and awkward yet warm and  _nice._

She narrowed her eyes, concentrating on his jawline, careful not to cut his skin, trying to ignore his parted lips and warm breath…

And words were on the tip of her tongue, she wanted to say something - 'stay with me, don't go,  _I think I'm falling in love with you…'_

Without realizing it, she had stopped.

"Emma?" he asked.

Her hand was shaking a little. She was scared.

Emma Swan was truly scared. Because she finally accepted she was falling for this man - she didn't want him to leave. He couldn't leave her- could he?

"Emma? You're shaking, what-"

And she looked at him, straight in the eye and  _he knew._ His eyes searched hers. He took the blade from her hand and pulled her closer to the edge of the vanity until their faces almost touched.

"I-"

She wanted to tell him. How much she wanted to tell him! But the words got stuck and she wanted to cry in frustration. Dampness pricked the corners of her eyes and her breathing became heavy and shaken.

"Come here, shhhh."

One hand in her hair, he pulled her face to his shoulder. She held him tight, knowing this may be the last time…

"Come with me," he whispered in her ear.

She stiffened and dug her fingers tighter.

"Killian, I can't…"

"Why not?"

His grip loosened, he dropped his forehead to hers.

She couldn't think of an answer. Every idea that formed seemed weak -  _I barely know you, I have a life here (ha!), what would I do? What if things don't work out?_

"Okay," she whispered.

"Really?" he asked in disbelief.

"Really," she nodded, not quiet believing that she had agreed to go with him. Since when was Emma Swan this brave? "Carpe diem, right?"

"Indeed," he smiled, before smothering her in little kisses that made her giggle and smile until her stomach ached. Finally he stopped and took a deep breath. "Emma, I-"

She swallowed. Her eyes widened a little in panic. She knew what he was going to say… No, it would be too much.

But he stopped. Instead he pressed a kiss to her lips, "I promise you won't regret this."

And she hoped the same too.

**Reviews are super appreciated!**


	10. De-ja vu

_2001_

Her shoulder was aching. The thick strap of her bag dug into her flesh heavily, pinching it uncomfortable. She knew she had packed too much.

As she waited she played with her hair, tucking and untucking it behind her ear, flipping it from her shoulder to her back and running her fingers though the strands searching for non-existent knots. 

The line was taking way too long. Every second seemed to increase the rate her heart thudded in her chest: nervousness was trickling though her, beginning to saturate her body in cold reality.

_She could do this. This was the right decision. She needed to go._

These words were on replay in her mind as she edged closer to the desk. Her fingers ran nervously over the nylon strap, shifting it away from the groove it was digging into her skin. She tried to stop her foot shaking - it was beginning to tap against the floor, her worn cowboy boots making a soft pit-pat sound.

“Next!”

Emma jumped: eyes flashing forward to the middle aged clerk with a bored expression who was currently raising her hand and gesturing to her to come forward.

Swallowing, she approached, pulling out her frayed rip wallet and placing it on the desk. “One ticket to Seattle please,” she asked, almost in a whisper.

“Return?” the clerk barked.

“One way.”

* * *

 

_2014_

“Miss? Miss?”

“Hmm?” Emma shook her head and looked up. In front of her a smiling flight attendant was holding out her hand, gesturing for her boarding card. “Oh,” she blushed.

The woman smiled again - all red glossy lips and shiny hair. “54a - first aisle, window seat, right near the back. Enjoy your flight.”

Nodding, Emma took the ticket stub and began to step carefully down the narrow aisle of the busy flight. 

50\. 51. 52. 53…

She sighed in relief when she found her seat. Reaching up she stowed her carry on in the overhead locker and slid into her seat as she loosened her coat and placed her purse on the floor. She looked out of the window at the airport that sprawled into the distance. Planes, trucks, endless grey lines of runway. A whole other little world that sparked a flicker of excitement in her belly.

This was really happening.

Biting her lip, she fumbled in the seat pocket, pulling out the airline magazine and thumbing through the pages.

She jumped when a heavy bag landed on the seat beside her.

“Sorry!” chirped a voice. Emma looked up and saw it belonged to a older woman, blonde, dressed in loose jeans and a floral blouse, “Looks like we are seat mates!”

“Um, I guess…” Emma replied as the woman stowed her back and shuffled into her seat.

“I’m Valerie,” beamed the woman, holding out her hand, which Emma felt obliged to take. “Off to visit my daughter in NYC!”

“I’m Emma,” she replied, slipping her hand away as Valerie fastened her belt.

“First time in New York?”

“Um, kinda. I mean, not since I was a kid.”

“Aww, you’ll love it. I visit twice a year. You on vacation?”

Emma bit her lip and felt her stomach leap a little.

“Actually I’m visiting someone. My boyfriend. I’m visiting my boyfriend.”

* * *

_2001_

The bus stank.

Sweat. Stale air. Vomit?

She pulled herself further into her hoody and rested her knees on the seat back in front. It had only been an hour of travel so far and she already felt sick and desperately wanted to take a rest break. Her fellow travellers seemed engrossed in their own worlds: reading books, sleeping, eating. 

Rustling in her bag, she pulled out a battered walkman, plugging in the tangled headphones and arranging them over her head. She turned it over in her hands, searching for the play button. 

Then she saw it. Her stomach cramped and her heart skipped a beat. 

That little note, written in black Sharpie on the side - _Prop. of N. Cassidy._

And for a second it all came back. The pain. The hurt. Her arms slipped down to hug her almost flat belly: empty belly, empty arms.

She squeezed her eyes shut and brought the wristband of her shirt to her mouth. Moistening it with her tongue, she brought the material to the offending mark and began to rub. And rub and rub. Excruciatingly slowly, the stubborn ink began to rub away.

All the while she was desperately wishing that memories were so easy to erase.

* * *

 

_2014_

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Her foot wouldn’t stop shaking. Her fingers were in her mouth and she was biting on her nails, silently chastising herself for the damage she was inflicting. 

Oh God she wished the baggage carousel would hurry.

And then a second later she wished it wouldn’t.

Her stomach was in knots and she felt the growing flush on her cheeks.

_Damn, it was hot._

Then she saw a flash of red and silently thanked herself for choosing easy to find luggage in a sea of black.  She stepped forward and grabbed the handle, adjusting the strap of her purse, as she began to drag the case behind her to the exit.

She felt sweat prickle at her temples as she walked. Each step seemed to take an age.

_Do I look okay? What if he has changed his mind? What if he is not there…_

Each leg felt like lead: heavy and weighing her down. 

It had been two weeks. Only two weeks.  But really, they had been two _long, aching_ weeks. Days and nights of texts and phone calls and Skype…

Not enough.  

But, enough for her to know that she was falling for him…

The grey glass automatic doors slid open as she stepped into the arrivals area. 

Barriers were set up to her left and a throng of people stood behind them. She searched: trying to look past the paper limousine signs and craning necks of relatives waiting. Her eyes glanced over the crowd, she clenched her jaw and felt her brow crinkle.

She couldn’t see him. _He wasn’t there. He wasn’t-_

And then he was. Smiling, pushing forward, a bouquet of pink roses in his hand. His face soft and his eyes bright.

She dropped her case and ran the few steps to where her stood.

Then he was cupping her face, staring into her eyes, a breathy, ‘Emma’ being spoken until their lips met and everything else melted away in a sea of hope and peace.

xoxo

_2001_

“Last stop. Seattle.”

The world was blurry when she opened her eyes. She’d fallen asleep with her face pressed against the cold glass of the window and now she had an aching head that she tried to ease by pressing her fingers against the skin.

Yawning, she blinked a few times. God, she was tired. Her eyelids felt like they were made of sandpaper and her mouth tasted stale. Her body was screaming out for sleep and a soft bed.

Gathering her belongings, she heaved her bag down the aisle and out of the bus into the cool, crisp morning air.

As she waited for her luggage, she looked up at the clear blue sky. The sun was just beginning to peek over the edges of the tall buildings that lined the street; a little pinkish glow tinged their edges.

After travelling so far - farther than she ever had before - she had wondered if she would feel differently. If the air would smell the same, if the blue of the sky would still be familiar. And it was: and at the same time it wasn’t.

Because as she watched a flock of birds soar high above her Emma realised something - it didn’t matter where she was really. The pain she was feeling would be there no matter her location.

And the pain of loss, and betrayal, hung heavy in her heart still.

* * *

 

_2014_

“Wow this is- Wow.“

Emma was lost for words. The apartment she had just walked into was like something from an interior design magazine. All clean lines and muted colors furnished with expensive looking items that gave the modest space a sophisticated edge.

“Well, I work with art so I guess that influences my decor choices,” he laughed.

Killian dropped the bags he was carrying and turned to close the door. Finally they were alone. Emma’s heart began to thud loudly in her chest. Alone. How she’d wanted this moment to come but now she felt so awkward and unsure of herself, she didn’t even know what to say.

“Drink?” he asked.

“Sure,” she nodded, following him as he walked through another door into the kitchen. He reached into the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Heineken, twisting off both caps and handing her one.

“Cheers,” he smiled, clinking both bottle necks together. They both took a sip, watching each other carefully. The beer was pleasantly cold and tickled her throat.

She ran her tongue along her lip as she rolled the cold, glass bottle between her hands. “Sooo…”

“Sooo…” he echoed. Then, catching her eye, he raised a brow and she began to laugh. “Why does this feel so awkward?” he smiled.

“Because I’m nervous,” she admitted, taking a step closer to him.

“Me too.”

Reaching onto her toes, she slipped a hand around his neck and pulled him into a small kiss. “I missed you,” she whispered against his lips, soaking in his familiar smell as she breathed deep.

His fingers tangled in her hair as he pulled her closer. “I missed you too.”

Another kiss - longer, sweeter, turning more passionate as they pressed their bodies together, each  yearning for something they had both been longing for throughout their separation. Slowly, Emma pulled back, struggling to breath.

Their faces were close and she stared into his blue eyes, feeling her heart make that little leap that both scared and excited her.

He swallowed and loosened his grasp on her hair. “I guess I’ll show you your room.”

“My room?” she asked, a little too quickly.

She could swear he blushed a little.

“I have a spare room and I didn’t want to presume-“

She caught his lips with hers again, crushing them together for a moment before slowly peeling back.

“You’re sweet, you know that?”

“Is that so?” he teased, running his hand down her back.

“Yeah. And I like that. But if you think intend on spending a single minute more than necessary away from you then you are mistaken.

“Well then love,” he began, taking her beer and placing them both on the kitchen countertop, “I do believe we have some lost time to make up for.”

She cocked her head and gave him a questioning look. He replied with a cheeky smile, before scooping her up into his arms and carrying her out of the kitchen.

* * *

 

“Hmmm,” she sighed, circling her fingers through his thick hair as his head lay against her chest. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he replied, tilting his head and kissing her stomach. His lips tickled her stomach and she giggled softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, confused.

“For taking a chance on me. I feel like this is happening so fast and-“

“Shhh,” she hushed, placing a finger on his lips. She didn’t want this conversation. Not yet, anyway. It had been so long since she had been content she wanted to just enjoy this moment- however long it will last. “Let’s just take this one step at a time.”

Killian slid beside her on the bed and slipped an arm around her waist. “Okay,” he nodded, kissing her forehead. “How do you feel about going out tonight? A friend is opening a new gallery and we could go for dinner-“

“A friend?” she asked. _He wanted her to meet his friends._

“Is that a problem?” he asked, brow creased in concern.

“No,” she lied, shaking her head. “I mean, um, it’s just… No, ignore me. That sounds great. Fantastic in fact.”

“You sure?”

She nodded, entangling her legs in his and drawing closer. “It’s just-“

“What love?” 

She tilted her head up to look at him, “Do they…Do your friends know how we met?”

Hell she’d never been embarrassed by her job before, but now… Well, now was different. The thought that people she had never met would be judging her and making assumptions about her character made her feel sick.

“All I’ve said is that during my trip to Seattle I met someone. A beautiful someone who is very special. Nothing else matters.”

Emma smiled and pulled him close.

Maybe this really was it - what she had been searching for for so long: a fresh start.

* * *

 

“Emma, you look great. Relax!”

“You sure?” she asked, feeling incredibly self conscious in the stark white glow of the gallery.

“I promise,” he whispered, handing her a glass of champagne.

“This place is really fancy,” she whispered back, settling into the crook of his shoulder as they walked. All around them were well dressed men and women eating canapés and discussing the canvasses that hung around the large space.

“Not as fancy as you, love.” She blushed as he kissed her cheek. He had this way of making her feel so at ease with a simple gesture. It was nice. “And you should know that most of these people have no clue what they are talking about. Which makes them perfect clients.”

Emma started to laugh.

Then something flashed by her. A face - familiar. A little older…

She craned her neck, looking between the crowd. 

_No,  it couldn’t be…_

And then she saw him. Standing not twenty feet away, champagne in hand, talking animatedly to a young asian girl with close cropped hair. 

Same hair. Same eyes. Same smile.

“Neal…” she whispered, the glass in her hand slipping as the room began to get fuzzy and grey. A wave of sickness started to rise and a ringing sound began to hum in her ears. She felt her legs begin to buckle as slowly consciousness slipped away.

“Emma!” was the last thing she heard before the world turned black.

 


	11. Ghosts

“ _Shit!_ ”

_The soda tipped up over her in one quick movement, instantly soaking through her t-shirt and making a lurid, orange stain._

“ _Oh my God, I_ ’ _m so sorry, here let me help-_ “

_She looked up at the stranger who had run into her - he was scrambling in the napkin box on the nearby counter, grabbing a handful of tissues and bringing them up to the stain._

“ _Whoa, hold on,_ ”  _Emma said, stopping his hands inches in front of her chest,_ “ _Let_ ’ _s not get too familiar, shall we?_ ”

_The man stopped and smiled. Looking into his soft brown eyes, her breath caught in her throat. Damn he was handsome. Typical, she thought - her mind going straight to her greasy hair and stained jeans - of all the times to meet a hot guy._

“ _I really am sorry,_ ”  _he promised. His brow was a little crinkled - he was older than her. Maybe 20?_

“ _It_ ’ _s fine, really._ ”  _She soaked up as much of the soda as she could and then balled up the tissues and tossed them in the nearest trash can._

“ _At least let me buy you another soda._ ”

_She smiled; he was persistent,_ “ _I work at the Crab Shack,_ ”  _she replied, pointing to her name tag,_ “ _Unlimited soda is one of the perks._ ”

“ _Well-_ ”  _he began, stepping a little closer and using a finger to lift up the tag,_ “ _-Emma, how about something stronger?_ ”

_Blushing a little, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip,_ “ _Can you wait four years?_ ”

“ _You_ ’ _re seventeen?_ ”  _he exclaimed and she nodded as he ran his fingers through his hair,_ “ _Wow, I mean_ …”

_Raising herself on her toes, she whispered into his ear,_ “ _But I do have a thing for older guys._ ”

“ _Oh, do you now?_ ”  _he teased._

_She felt her heart racing a little and she knew her cheeks were flushed - she was still pretty new to this whole flirting thing._

“ _Alright then, dinner, on me - to apologize and everything._ ”

_He gestured to her stained shirt and cocked his head a little to one side. He had a nice smile, she thought._

“ _Okay._ ”  _Rifling through her purse, she pulled out a Sharpie and grabbed his left arm, pulling it close and writing her number in looping script._ “ _Call me,_ ”  _she said, turning and walking back to the Crab Shack._

_"Neal," he shouted, calling after her, "My name's Neal._ ”

_As she walked she smiled, Neal. That_ ’ _s a nice name_ …

* * *

It was like waking up from a deep sleep. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, but now, instead of the cold concrete floor, she was seated on a glossy plastic reclining chair that was slippery and smooth beneath her fingers.

She sighed deeply, her fingers darting to the side of her head which was hot and throbbing, where she felt an angry welt beginning to form.

“ Shhh. ”  The voice was soothing,  “ Here, drink this. ”

Her lashes fluttered open a little as a glass was brought to her lips. Everything was still blurry but the water was cool and she gulped it down greedily, pushing herself up as she pulled away from the drink.  “ What happened, ”  she murmured, rubbing at her eyes with her palms as her vision and hearing began to return to normal.

“ You fainted. ”  Killian was crouched in front of her. Her purse and shoes were in his hands and his small smile did little to hide his concern.  “ I told you to eat more at lunch. ”

Emma smiled weakly, flexing her toes and rolling her shoulders.  “ I ’ m fine. Maybe I was just tired from the flight. ”

“ Maybe, ”  he nodded, slipping her shoes back on her feet and then helping her to stand.  “ Are you sure you ’ re okay? ”

“ Yeah, ”  she promised, enjoying the way he was looking at her like she was something precious,  “ But maybe we can leave soon? ”

“ Of course, ”  he agreed.

Looping her hand into his offered arm, she tried to remember the moments before she passed out. The memory was fuzzy. Blurry shapes, colors-

“ Hey- “  called Killian, pausing mid step,  “ Ben! How are ya, mate? ”

Lost in thought Emma didn ’ t look straight away.  _What had happened-_

“ Killian, it ’ s been a long time. ”

Wait. That voice. It sounded like - no, she scoffed, it couldn ’ t be.

Then it all came, tumbling back in a crashing wave of recollection. Across the room, him - same eyes, same hair,  _same voice-_

Looking up, she started. There he was, not six feet away.  _Neal._

He didn ’ t look her way at first, he was shaking Killian ’ s hand. God, she wanted to run. She could do it, just disentangle her arm, turn around-

“ Emma love, I ’ d like you to meet an acquaintance of mine, Ben Cassidy. ”

Then his eyes met hers. She saw him swallow. A shadow passed over his face and his gaze flickered downward for half a second, until he seemed to compose himself and held out his hand.  “ Emma. Nice to meet you. ”

_So that_ ’ _s how this will work,_ she thought,  _Pretend we don_ ’ _t know each other. And a fake name too?_  Emma was halfway between shock and fury at the evening’s turn of events. Flexing her jaw, she shook his hand and gave him a small nod.

He turned back to Killian and the two men chatted briefly. She noticed his eyes flashing to her face from time to time. Her skin felt like it was burning as a multitude of emotions tumbled around inside her. How was it possible that they should meet again - after all this time? After all she had done to forget him. Bile began to rise in her stomach and she excused herself, taking the few steps to the small bar that had been set up in one corner of the room.

Picking up a glass of champagne, she sank back a mouthful and swilled it around her cheeks. The tart liquid stung her tongue and she quickly swallowed. Disbelief was beginning to be outweighed by anger. God, she wanted to punch his face - grab his hair and scream at him for everything he did. Slam her fists onto his chest as she beat out all the pain of his abandonment and the consequences that still followed her to that day.

But then she looked at Killian: smiling, unaware. Handsome and kind and - he  _liked_ her. She didn ’ t want to take a chance of messing up whatever was happening between them. She pushed back the wave of bitterness and tipped the rest of the champagne into her mouth. He seemed to want to pretend they didn ’ t know each other and that worked for her.

“ Ready to go? ”  Killian asked, approaching the bar with a warm smile, kissing her on her cheek so that her skin tingled with electricity.

“ Yeah, ”  she replied, in a breathy whisper.

“ I ’ ll get our coats. ”

He was only gone for a second when she felt a presence at her back.

“ Emma. ”

Turning on her heel, she sucked in a breath, stumbling back a little on her heel, before composing herself and pushing back her shoulders.

“ Neal, ”  she replied, raising her brow.

“ I go by Ben now. ”   Bending his arm to rest at the bar, he leant into it nonchalantly and Emma had to check her rising fury.

“ So I see, ”  she spat, turning to look out for Killian returning,  “ You have a lot of nerve coming over here. ”

“ Em, ”  he mumbled, taking a step closer, reaching for her arm,  “ I ’ m sor- “

“ Don ’ t touch me, ”  she snapped, glaring at him with blazing eyes.

His head dropped and he bit his lip,  “ I know it ’ s probably too little, too late, but I was young and stupid and- “  he shrugged,  “ I ’ m sorry. ”

“ Yes,  _Neal,_ ”  Emma hissed,  “ It ’ s far too little, far too late - 13 years too late. ”

His face twitched, his lips pursing for a second, as he reached into his jacket.  “ Look, I ’ d really like to talk. Apologize properly. Here ’ s my card. If you change your mind- “

He pushed the card along the bar.

“ I won’t, ”  she snapped and he gave a terse smile, nodding, before he slipped away.

She stared at the blue, rectangular piece of card.  ‘ Ben Cassidy, Event Management ’  was written in plain, bold type, below it a cellphone number and an email address. Her fingers danced tantalizingly close to it, slipping backwards and forwards as she waited.

“ Ready? ”

She was startled when Killian appeared from behind, placing her coat over her shoulders. Once more, her fingers slid forward, this time pulling it back into her grasp as she shrugged on her coat.

“ Yes, ”  she smiled, slipping her purse over her shoulder and dropping the card inside.

* * *

Killian was working. Emma had yet to start looking for a job, so she found herself alone in the apartment on a rainy Friday afternoon. Her purse from last night sat on the living room table where she had left it - unopened and almost forgotten. Almost.

But its contents seemed to be calling to her. She needed to do something about it.

Pulling the card out, she walked into the kitchen, dropped it on the countertop and stared. The blue burned her vision and when she briefly looked away, a ghost of its image danced before her eyes.

Walking to the trash can, she palmed the card and pressed the pedal that opened the lid. She dangled the card between finger and thumb before taking a deep breath and letting go.

Wiping her hands together, she walked away.

_*30 minutes later*_

Shaking slightly, she punched in the digits, the slightly soiled card clutched in her other hand. Her stomach was churning, her head was telling her to hang up, and she almost did until-

“This is Ben Cassidy speaking.”

“Neal,” she whispered, “I changed my mind. When can we meet?”

 

* * *

 

_13 years ago_

“How’s your pasta?”

“It’s good,” Emma smiled, twirling her fork in the fettuccini, “How’s your…?”

“Calzone,” he answered, “Pretty great, thanks.”

The little Italian place he had chosen was a stone’s throw away from the Charles River. The tiny dining room was fitted with small tables covered in checkered red and white table cloths and the candles that lit them were stood in old bottles of wine that were layered with different colored waxes that had melted onto the glass.

“This place is nice.”

“Thanks. I found it when I moved here six months ago - best pizza this side of Italy.”

He pulled a silly face and she laughed, trying to take a drink of her Coke to settle the butterflies that were currently taking up residence in her stomach.

This guy was nice - real nice. 

“I’ll take your word on that,” she replied, looking over and catching his eye - blushing as he stared into hers. His gaze was hot and a little overwhelming.

“So, Emma, about your shirt - am I forgiven?”

“Hmmm,” she mumbled, shrugging her shoulders a little, “I mean it  _was_ a favorite shirt…”

He reached across the table and took her hand in his, running his thumb over her knuckles, “Is someone trying to get a second date?”

“Oh this is a date, is it?” she teased, leaning closer to him.

“If you want it to be,” he replied softly, his head leaning closer to hers. 

Damn she was thankful the table was so small.

“Maybe I do.”

Neal smiled, tilting his head and reaching his mouth to hers, pulling her into a soft kiss.

Emma felt herself melting into a warm puddle as his lips teased hers open and the room began to spin.

_Yes,_ she thought,  _this is definitely a date._

* * *

Her mind far away, she turned the coaster over in her fingers, tapping each edge against the bar as she waited. In her other hand, she held her straw, swirling it in her glass of Coke, watching the ice cubes twirl around in the cocoa colored liquid.

He was late. She wasn’t surprised. It seemed some things never changed.

It was mid-afternoon and the bar was quiet - just a few old guys watching baseball on a flickering TV and a couple of college kids playing pool. Looking at her watch she began to get annoyed. Why had she put herself in this situation - to be let down, again? Sometimes she was her own worst enemy.

Just as she was about to give up - there he was. Searching the bar, he smiled when he saw her. She lifted her hand and he hurried to her table, making a rushed apology as he pulled off his scarf and coat.

As he left to get a drink, her foot began to tap anxiously against the floor - quickening with every minute that passed. Her stomach was tightening and she began to think that this had been a very bad idea.

“Did you find this place okay?” he asked, as he sat down.

“Did you?” she sassed, lying back in her seat.

“I deserved that,” he nodded, taking a sip of his beer. “So, how’s things?”

“Things?” Grabbing her glass she bit her lip until she was sure it had turned white. “Things are good. No thanks to you.”

He reached out his legs under the table, crossing them at the ankle and reaching up to scratch his head, “Again, that was deserved.”

“Oh, so you realized what a dick move that was? Walking out on me? I spent three months in jail. Jail, Neal!” She raised her brows to emphasize her point. His thumb went to his lips and began to trace over them.

“Ah Em, I had no idea-“

“Of course you didn’t!” she cried, lowering her voice as she noticed the few faces in the room turning to our table, “You just left and didn’t even look back. Damn it Neal, I trusted you!”

He was rolling the bottle between his hands now. “Look, Em, it’s a shitty excuse but here’s the way it was. I was in deep - I didn’t tell you but I’d been selling some weed on the side, trying to build up some cash so we could move away - you know, like we talked about?”

Emma dropped her eyes to the table. Yes, she remembered. They were going to move far away, somewhere warm with lots of sunshine. They were going to get an apartment and proper jobs - and be happy.

“Well, I fucked up, lost some money and I had to go. They told me if I didn’t leave I’d be dead.”

“This is a great story Neal, but why the hell didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you-“

His thumb began to pick at the bottle’s sodden label, “Honestly I was scared - I thought if you came with me, you might get hurt and I wouldn't be able to stop it. I thought it was the best thing for you.”

Emma stayed silent. His words were barely sinking in. You could call them reasons; she called them excuses.

“I would never have done that to you Neal. Left - not said goodbye, not explained why…”

Hot tears were welling up, the pain of being abandoned so easily fresh in her mind, even after all these years. A lump was forming in her throat.

“I know. And I’ve regretted leaving you like that, every single day. I never stopped thinking about you Em.”

Her chest became tight. 

“How can you say these things? After all these years? Damn Neal, I thought you were dead for Christ’s sake! Do you know what it’s like thinking that the man you are in love with has abandoned you? That he doesn’t care about you enough to even say goodbye? That he’d let you take the fall for his dumb crimes-“

“Em…”

Reaching across the table, he took hold of the hand she had placed there, running his thumb over her knuckles, just the way he used to.

Little tears peeled down her cheeks.

“This was a bad idea,” she sniffed, wiping her cheeks with her other hand, trying to pull out of his touch.

But his fingers tightened and she looked up. “Em, I still love you.”

No. No.  _No._

The word pounded in her head as old emotions began to stir - getting twisted together with the pain and hurt of 13 years of feeling abandoned.

“You have no right to say that.”

“I don’t suppose I do,” he agreed in a whisper, loosening his grip, running his fingers over hers. “But I mean it.”

Head aching, mind a jumble, stomach twisted - she stood. “Far too little, far too late,” she replied sadly as she turned to leave, “This was a bad idea, I should go-“ 

And before he could reply she was racing towards the doors into the drizzling, afternoon air.

**_Thank you for all your reviews, favourites and follows. They are appreciated more than you can know!!_ **


	12. Block it out

**_A/N Bet you thought you'd seen the last of this one! Well, my muse if a fickle lady and she just would not let me write this for the past few months, but now I've had a burst of inspiration so it's full steam ahead!_ **

_The kisses on her neck tickled, just a little and she sighed happily as he trailed them lower across her collar bone, his soft hair brushing against her chin._

_The bed was small, but she didn’t care. She fumbled for her t-shirt and tugged it over her head, until his bare chest lay against hers and she felt a little flutter of giddiness in her heart._

_“Hey,” she whispered, ruffling his hair until he looked up, eyes blazing with want._

_“Hey,” he smiled as he reached up and kissed her mouth, softly, slowly - almost reverently. “I love you, you know that right?”_

_Tightening her legs around his hips, she replied, “Yeah, I do. And I love you too, Neal.”_

_There was nothing more to say as she pressed his mouth once more against his and let her body do as it wished- her heart falling deeper for him._

§

* * *

Running away was easy. It’s what she always did - second nature, if you will.

The journey from the bar was a blur. She found a cab just as the earlier drizzle began to form into a heavier rain. She could feel her hair curling from the moisture as the a/c in the cab chilled her damp skin. But it all didn’t matter, because the numbness had returned.

Just seeing him again had started it. The way he talked, the way he smiled, the way he moved- Nothing had changed. Being so near to him had made her crumble. All the hurt and all those memories she had tried so hard to hold back had came tumbling forth from her subconscious. Her heart had raced, her stomach had cramped into sickness. Foolishly, she’d believed that now she was older, stronger; maybe even wiser and things would be different - his effect on her less potent. But she was wrong.

She managed to give directions to Killian’s apartment then barely aware of herself she paid the driver and made her way into the lobby - pressing the elevator buttons as she looked at herself in the mirrored walls.

Emma didn’t recognize the reflection it presented. It was as if time had been dialed back and she was once again that teenage girl - the one whose trusting nature had only served to cause her pain and hurt. The eyes were familiar; they held the same expression that lingered for months after she had ran away to Seattle - the time it had taken until she found a way to numb the memories with a few drinks or by burying herself in work.

Rifling in her purse for the keys, the anger built. At him, at herself - at life’s shitty habit of screwing you over. The way he had thought he could apologize now, after all this time, was pretty rich. Far too little, far too late. He’d walked out on her, left her to deal with the consequences of his actions and hadn’t so much as tried to contact her in the past 13 years.

Seeing him alone had been the worst idea, she conceded as she opened the apartment door and closed it firmly behind her. It had only served to reopen old wounds. 

And what good had it done, telling him what had happened to her? It hadn’t made her feel any better, in fact quite the opposite. It had made her feel weak and powerless. Instead the release she had hoped for, it had just stirred up emotions that she longed to forget. She thanked God she hadn’t told him about the baby. No - that would have tipped her over the edge and brought back the grief. That was one thing to be thankful for.

Angrily, she tugged off her damp jeans and shirt and pulled on a tank top and some sweats. She stalked around the apartment, looking for something with which to occupy herself. Her phone rang and she dug it out of her purse:  _Neal_ flashed on the screen. Swallowing hard she pressed cancel and then turned it off, shoving it back in her bag and trying to forget that afternoon.

The tension in her forehead was unbearable, her jaw clenched as she turned on the TV and collapsed on the sofa. 

The images blurred as she tried to relax, her fingers massaging her temples as one thought repeated in her head.

_Forget…._

§

* * *

“Emma?”

The door slammed and she was there beside it in seconds. He barely had time to think before she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. He responded keenly, pressing her back against the hallway wall as her fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck.

_Yes,_ she thought, f _orget…_

“Hey,” he panted as he pulled back his lips, “What’s gotten into you?”

“I missed you,” she replied - not exactly a lie, but not the whole truth either. The blood that had begun to pump faster through her veins was mixing with a spike of adrenaline. “I need you-“ she pleaded.

He raised a brow and dampened his lips - staring into her eyes. Could he see? Did he recognize the pain? The hurt?

No, she couldn’t tell him. He wouldn’t understand.

“Are you okay?”

Emma nodded, clawing the collar of his shirt and reaching on her toes, stealing another kiss from his lips. “I just-“ she broke off, looking at him again, her eyes pleading almost - trying to tell him what she couldn’t say.

“Okay,” he whispered, leaning down as she rolled back her head against the wall. Each touch of his lips on her neck pushed away a little reality. But she was impatient for more.

Her hands nimbly tugged on the fastening of his belt, eagerly opening it then moving to the fly of his pants, taking a second to press against his hardness and enjoying his groan of ‘fuck’. His tongue flicked and curved against her neck - he gathered her loose hair up in one hand, piling it on top of her head while she pushed away his pants and began kick off her sweatpants.

_This was what she needed. Just him and her._

“Should we-?” he panted into her ear, nodding his head in the direction of the bedroom.

“I want you here first,” she moaned when he bit gently at the junction of shoulder and neck. There wasn’t time to waste, now - this moment - was all that mattered.

Still half clothed, she hitched her leg up to his hip. He understood and shifted his hands under her ass, digging in his fingers as they kissed once again. She battled with his tongue, nipping at it with her teeth while she shifted her hips closer to his. Emma felt his knees drop against the wall behind her.

_Yes, this was working - making it all fade away…_

“Come on,” she whined into his mouth, reaching down and positioning his cock, grinding against him until he relented and let out a loud grunt as he buried himself inside her.

“Oh  _Emma_.”

His breathy groan made her tingle and cramp against him, the desire evident in his pitch and timbre. God to feel wanted was everything right then.

Feeling him inside her was the perfect antidote to any lingering thoughts. His hips began to snap against hers, each push dragging her deeper into a world of pleasure where the thoughts began to disappear.

“Harder-“ she pleaded, rocking her own hips. “Harder!”

The sounds of groans and slapping flesh echoed hollowly around the small space. If anyone was passing they could probably hear. She didn’t care.

It was building. She was on the way to giving in and letting herself come - for that would be the sweetest release. But she wasn’t ready. Because with release came an end to the sensation that was holding everything else back.

Emma loosened her legs and he stopped. “Come with me.” He nodded, following her further into the apartment, both stripping away their remaining clothes. When she reached the sofa, his arms wrapped around her - more kisses were dropped on her shoulder. Fingers reached into her damp folds and he worked at her clit; she let her ass grind against his cock, still wet from her, hard and yearning, her muscles clenching in anticipation.

Prying away his hands, she lay forward over the arm of the couch, pressing her ass in the air. His breathing became low and heavy.

She was lost in him as he was in her.

“Take me,” she asked, pressing up on her toes and gasping when he grabbed her hips and she felt him start to nudge inside her. This time slowly, teasingly, the new position allowing him to get so deep it almost hurt. 

But the pain was good. Another sensation to take away the memories.

Each thrust shunted her further into the soft leather of the couch. She turned her face. The TV was still playing. Her mind was abuzz with sound and sensation.

“Oh yes,” she muttered. 

It felt so good. Just letting go - letting him take control, use her almost. “Please, more-“

One hand began to round over her ass, dipping around to rub her clit a few times and then back to the cleft between her cheeks. He ran his thumb up and down it a few times, pausing as he reached her other entrance.

He hesitated. She curled her hips up tighter to him.

“Go on,” she urged.

The pain was sharp when he pressed his thumb into her. His hips rocked his cock more slowly inside her cunt, taking away some of the uncomfortable sensation he was making elsewhere. The motion was slick and fluid - god she was wet.

_Why was she angry? She almost couldn’t recall._

She felt a cold drop as he spat onto her ass, dampening his thumb a little and de pushed deeper until she cried out -  _fuck_ , it stung.

“Sorry-“ he panted, pulling back a little until she reached out and grabbed his hand. 

“No - keep going.”

After a small pause, he did. His thumb massaging her as it worked its way deeper, making him feel even thicker inside her cunt and assaulting her body with a heady mixture of pain and pleasure combined with a feeling of wanton abandon.

_Just what she needed._

_“Fuck Emma, I’m coming-“_

She bucked up against him, grinding harder. “Come on baby-“ the challenge of bringing him over the edge now fuelling her.

The world was all sweat and breathing and skin sliding against skin now.

_Yes._

“Shit-“ he cried, pulling out of her quickly. 

Not giving him a second, she turned around, grabbing his erection and pumping him fast until he came and emptied himself over her chest - his sticky release running down her skin as he lay over her, desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Hey,” he smiled, learning down to give her a damp kiss.

Letting out a deep breath she replied, “Hey.”

He began to nuzzle into her neck as she lay still, her mind quiet at last.

§

* * *

They had taken a shower together soon after. Enjoying each other’s bodies, playfully kissing as he washed her hair and she rubbed soap into his skin. So delightfully ordinary and all the more precious to her because of it.

It had been decided an evening in with movies and takeout was needed. After drying her off, he placed her in bed before he went to make the order. “Are you sure you are okay Emma?” he asked, his eyes narrowing a little as made to leave the room.

“Of course,” she lied, plumping up the pillows behind her.

For a moment or two, he stared. Maybe he didn’t believe her. Maybe he knew more that he was letting on - he did say he was friends with Neal or Ben or whatever stupid name he was using now. The panic slackened in her chest when he nodded and went into the living room.

She shuffled to get comfortable before deciding to find a DVD to watch from the cabinet beneath the flatscreen at the foot of his bed. Padding over to it, she paused where she had left her purse on the floor. Automatically she grabbed her phone and pressed the power button, before tossing it aside as she looked over the titles.

The phone beeped - once, twice, three times.

She glanced where it lay: five missed calls, one text message. Gingerly picking it she typed in her access code.

_Missed Call(s)_

_Neal (5)_

_Text Message_

_Neal_

She tapped the little envelope icon, catching her breath when she saw the two words that could never be enough:

_I’m sorry._

** _A/N reviews and messages make me happier than imagining baby unicorns!_ **


	13. The Hardest Thing

**A/N - Angst ahoy...**

_I need to tell you something._

That’s all she had to say. Just sit down and explain who ‘Ben’ really was.

Easy, right?

She’d heard that sharing a problem halves the burden, or something like that. Not that Emma had ever tried; no one had ever gotten close enough to her. Even her few friends she kept carefully at arm’s length, giving away just enough about herself. It was just easier that way. 

Well, kinda. 

Bottling things up had become a fine-tuned art over the years. Angry about something? Have a drink and try to forget. Sad? Take some sleeping pills and hope that sleep helps. Scared? Lock the front door, wrap up in a blanket and wait for the feeling to fade.

Of course, it never really worked. Each feeling lingered, leaving a ghostly impression on her soul, building up over the years to the point where she didn’t know where she ended and the hurt girl in her heart began. So maybe it was time to try something new.

That night, Killian had asked her one more time if she was okay. They were watching a movie in bed- she lay with her head in the crook of his shoulder, his arm snug around her waist. She was falling asleep, lulled by his warm body and the soft, dull thud of his heart beneath her. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, just below her hairline. It had made her smile.

“Are you sure you’re okay, love? You know you can tell me anything.”

His tone was soft, perhaps with a tinge of underlying concern. She felt his hand tighten as she automatically stiffened her body for a second. Briefly, she considered it. Drowsy in the warm bed, still a bit punch drunk from the make out session that had lasted from the time it took the pizza to arrive, she really did think about telling him everything. But then the moment passed and she sighed softly, burying her face further into his naked chest. 

“I’m fine,” she lied, “Absolutely fine.”

She paused, holding her breath, listening to his heart beat, trying to relax but failing-

“Well, actually-“ she began and instantly he pulled her just a tiny bit closer. “Oh God, I’m not sure how to begin.”

“Take your time,” he soothed, running his hand through her hair.

“It’s about that guy - Ben.”

“Ben?”

She nodded lightly as she turned to face away from him. Maybe opening up a little would be easier if she couldn’t see his face.

“His real name - his old name - wasn’t Ben. It’s Neal.”

Curling her knees up to her waist, Emma laid her palm on the cool cotton sheets of the bed as she counted the few slow seconds that passed by.

“I mean the same Neal… I mean-“ she drew up her shoulders and sighed, “The one I was in a relationship with.”

Killian exhaled deeply and his hand came to rest on her hip. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?” he whispered.

“I dunno…actually, that’s a lie. Part of me thought I could just deal with it on my own. Part of me was scared how you would react.”

“Emma…”

He rolled her back towards him. A cold chill ran through her as he tilted her chin so they could look into each other’s eyes. “I need you to understand that you’re important to me. And that means when you have a problem, it’s mine too. If I’d have known-“

“I saw him this afternoon,” she blurted out before he could finish.

Sighing again, Killian dropped his gaze.

“I thought maybe I could clear the air and then even maybe just forget he ever existed but…”

Softly, Killian kissed her forehead as the words died in her throat. For a few moments they were quiet. She had expected him to say more - to give her advice or try to soothe her with words. Instead he just held her tight and waited.

Finally, she continued, feeling the tears she had pushed away earlier rising, “But then he started trying to apologize and said he loved me and I just couldn’t take it and-“ her voice cracked, just a little.

“It’s okay, I understand.”

“You do?”

He shifted down the bed so they were eye to eye. “I knew when I came home that something was wrong, Emma. You’re a woman of few words, I’ve realized, but the way you were so aggressive and forward - that was a little surprising.”

“Yeah,” she sighed.

“And I’m here for you. I know you’ve been hurt and all I want to do is protect you. I can make sure you don’t need to see him again - it’s a big city. You have me now.”

“I do?”

Killian smiled and pressed a kiss on her lips, “Yes. And I can’t take away the past, but I can keep assholes like that away from you.” He started to run his hand over the curve of her waist, “I never liked him, you know, I always got a weird vibe. Like he was hiding something. I guess he was.”

“Yeah, he certainly was.” She slipped her leg between his and studied his bright blue eyes. Maybe she could trust him? He hadn’t lied to her so far (well, as far as she knew), he seemed to actually care about her welfare and there was just something about him that told her heart to let him in. “You know the dumbest thing? It was over ten years ago. I’d thought a bunch of times what I would do if I saw him. I swung from slugging him, to ignoring him completely. Passing out and then meeting him for a drink was not one of the preferred options.” She smiled grimly as she remembered how she had felt when she saw him across the room at the gallery.

“Well, you see, that’s the problem with people. We aren’t rational, especially when we want to be. It sounds like when you saw him, you became that young girl from all those years ago. But you’re not, Emma, you know that, right?”

Through her damp eyes she smiled and nodded. Maybe she didn’t believe him totally, but his earnest expression and the sincerity in his voice convinced her at least he believed it.

“You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“No,” he replied, “I’m actually not good enough.”

* * *

The next day Killian had insisted on taking the day off work to stay with her. She had protested (lamely). He had countered with the very true point that as he ran his own business, he could do as he pleased and a little part of her swelled with something like happiness when he switched of his phone and brought her hot chocolate in bed.

They lazed for a few hours. Talking about nothing of consequence, making love a couple of times (and that’s what it was - it was more than sex) and sometimes just being quiet and listening to the faint city sounds that rose up from the street below.

Finally they both had to concede that they were hungry.

“Oh, I wish we could just hide here all day. But I really want a burrito for some reason.”

Killian laughed, “So you like Mexican food, huh? I’ll remember that.”

“Sometimes,” she teased, feeling more relaxed than she had thought possible after the previous day. “I guess you have a lot to learn about me.”

“And you about me,” he retorted, nipping forward to kiss her cheek before she could swat him away. “As it is, there is an amazing burrito cart about two blocks west. I can be there and back in 15.”

“Tempting,” she sighed, running her leg up and down his, pausing to hook her foot around his ankle and drag herself closer. “Get me some chips and guacamole too, and we have a deal.”

“Well love, you do drive a hard bargain. But thankfully to you I am susceptible to your charms. One burrito with a side of chips and guacamole coming up.”

Emma beamed as he rolled out of bed and pulled on his jeans, jumping into the legs as he fastened the fly before grabbing a t-shirt from his dresser. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. “Will you miss me?”

“In your dreams, she laughed, swatting him away as she suddenly realized, she would.

* * *

The urge to pull on some clothes and finally leave the bedroom overcame her minutes after Killian left. She slipped on one of his t-shirts and a pair of his boxer briefs that she found in the dresser, musing as she did so that perhaps the burritos may get a little cold by the time they got to them.

Lazily, she strolled through the apartment, smiling at the artwork he had chosen for the walls and the little design pieces he had scattered around. He had good taste; thank God one of them did. She caught the words as she thought them - was she really considering a future with this man?

As she perused his bookshelf, she found herself reviewing everything that had happened between them so far. They had only known each other a month, and so much seemed to have happened. Yet one thing had stood firm, he had always been straight with her and, damn, he did seem to like her an awful lot.

Maybe more than  _like_.

She pushed that thought aside as she pulled out a worn copy of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ and thumbed idly through the soft, yellowed pages, letting the scent of aged paper surround her and elicit a nostalgic state of mind. Memories of afternoons hidden in the library - anything to avoid going to her foster home - came to her as fresh as if they were yesterday. 

A knock at the door startled her thoughts -  _looks liked Killian forgot his key,_ she mused as she wandered along the short corridor, turning the deadlock and swinging open the door, only to let out a soft gasp when the face she saw was not that of the Englishman.

“Neal?”

“Emma, I-“

“What are you doing here?” she said in a low whisper, taking a step further into the hall and blocking the entrance to the apartment with her body. “You have no right-“

“Killian told me you were staying with him. I came to apologize, Em. I was out of line yesterday. It’s been chewing me up inside and I feel like such a dick-“

“Only for yesterday?” she retorted with a snort, “Like I said, too little too late. Please leave.”

Neal shuffled a little on the spot, stuffing one hand into his pocket and making no advance to follow her instructions.

“Please hear me out, I deserve that at least.”

When earlier she had responded with panic and nausea, Neal’s renewal of his advances was now met with anger. She felt her fists clench as she squared her shoulders.

Through gritted teeth she hissed, “You deserve nothing, Neal.”

“Baby, please,” he began, taking a step forward and placing his hand on the door frame to the right of her face, her eyes darted to his arm, feeling increasingly trapped as he loomed closer. “I’ve changed. I mean it. I was a dumb kid back then, if I’d have known how to contact you years ago, I would have…”

“But you didn’t,” Emma replied softly, looking down at her bare feet, just inches away from his own boot-clad ones. “My name never changed and, yeah, I moved. I’ve been living in Seattle. But you could have found me if you’d wanted to.”

He was a quiet for a moment and Emma felt some of the tension in her body dissipate. Maybe she was stronger than she thought.

“I know,” he admitted. She looked up. Those same  brown  eyes - they hadn’t changed, save for a few crinkles that had gathered at their edges. “And I guess that’s my biggest regret.”

Now would have been the point to step inside and close the door. She was torn, part of her pulling her back inside the apartment, the other feeling confident and sure and just wanting to let him know how much he had affected her.

The second side won.

“I was in jail, Neal. I was just a teenager and I had no one to turn to. Do you understand what that did to me?”

She tilted her head and felt tears rise again at her eyes, but this time they werenot from current pain or emotion, but more a memory or an echo of a girl long since gone. “I loved you. I trusted you.”

His hand slipped to her shoulder. She wanted to flinch it away, but instead she held steadfast and kept his gaze. “I was…” she started, briefly pausing, thinking - “Neal, I was pregnant. I mean I had a baby. Our baby.”

“What?” His face instantly paled, his lips parting slightly. The grip on her shoulder tightened as she nodded. 

“A boy. He had your eyes,” she murmured wistfully, remembering the day he was born and those brief hours when he was hers. 

“Fuck,” he muttered, seemingly lost for words. “Jesus Christ, I didn’t know, I didn’t-“

“No, you didn’t,” she replied, “Because you left me with no warning.”

“And the baby?”

Her eyes flickered again to the floor as she remembered the report the PI had filed on her - their - son. “He was adopted. He has a good family, better than we could have ever been.”

Neal studied her face for a few moments, the fingers of his hand gliding down her arm and finding her own and  entwining them together . She let him. Her anger gone, she felt numb. “I don’t know what to say.”

Emma sighed softly. Spent. Slightly elated that she had let out her feelings without dissolving into a mess of emotions or screaming the place down.

His lips caught her by surprise. They were quickly followed by his hand in her hair. Even after all these years, he still kissed the same. Slow, tender, his mouth soft, his tongue darting to join with hers.  She let him kiss her . For old time’s sake? Because she was sad? She wasn’t sure, but she knew within seconds that this was wrong and not what she wanted. With a firm hand on his chest, she pushed him back against the opposite wall.

“No, Neal. No.”

Only then did she see the second shadow in the hallway. Turning slowly to her left she saw Killian, a plastic grocery bag hanging from his fingers, his mouth set in a grimace as he stared at the scene before him.

“She said no Ben, Neal - whatever your name is.”

The three were silent a moment. Emma wiped the back of her hand against her mouth - desperate to erase the taste of him from her lips.

“We were just talking. I came to apologize,” he explained, stepping closer to the other man, “I guess you know our history.”

“I do,” Killian replied tartly, folding his arms and making the plastic bag swing like a pendulum from his hand. “And I’d say you are just about done. So be on your way and this doesn’t have to get awkward.”

“Huh,” Neal huffed, licking his lips as he shook his head, “I think Emma is capable of handling herself. She doesn’t need some jumped up English boy who thinks he’s the shit looking out for her.”

“Oh, is that right?” Killian sighed coolly, his lips curving in a smile before his arm swiftly shot out and hit Neal square on the chin.

“What the fuck!” Neal growled, a trail of blood running from his broken lip as Emma pressed herself into the doorway of the apartment.

Killian tossed the bag aside and pushed Neal backwards, “I said leave.”

“Fuck you Killian.”

His return punch landed on Killian’s stomach. He let out a soft ‘oof’ as he staggered backwards, quickly regaining his balance and charging forward once more. He aimed another punch at Neal’s nose, gaining another spurt of blood for his efforts as Neal charged forward and grabbing him by his t-shirt, slamming Killian back into the wall of the hallway, his head banging against the plastered surface.

“Stop!” Emma cried, feeling a little helpless as the two men went at each other like rival school boys in the playground. “Now!!”

They weren’t listening, instead they began to square up to each other, moving in a circular pattern, each occasionally tapping out a small punch that the other tried to dodge. Feeling desperate, she ran behind Killian, wrapping her arms around his shoulders she jumped up and tied her legs around his waist, making him step backwards as he tried to shake her off. “Stop,” she begged, “Please!”

Her soft entreaty seemed to break whatever spell of manly pride that had overtaken him. Pausing, he breathed heavily as Neal stepped backward. Emma slowly disentangled herself, running her arms around his waist as the two exhaled in time, the men cautiously observing each other. “Enough,” she sighed, “Enough.”

Swallowing, Neal nodded, quickly followed by Killian.

Stepping between the two, she surveyed the damage. Neal had a bloody nose and split lip. Killian looked to be sporting the first signs of a black eye and there was a soft indent in the wall where his head had hit it.

“ I’m not worth this. I’m not worth fighting over.” Killian’s hand found her hip and squeezed tightly. “Neal, I think you should go. Please.”

Wordlessly, he nodded again, walking past Killian towards the elevator, the men’s eyes not parting until they had passed each other. Emma quickly pulled Killian into the apartment, swooping down to pick up the discarded bag of food before she shut the door.

In an instant, his arms were around her, his lips were in her hair, faint whispers of, “I’m sorry,” peppering kisses on her head. She wasn’t sure whether he was apologizing for Neal or the fight. But dropping the bag once more, she laid her head on his chest, knowing one thing for sure: no matter how hard she tried, it seemed she could never escape who she really was - that lost girl; the dirty, pretty thing.

 

_**A/N - Thank you to the wonderful Ztofan for being the best beta ever and to everyone who has followed, favourited, gave kudos, or reviewed - I love you all!** _


	14. Rinse and Repeat

**A big thank you to my wonderful beta, Ztofan :D**

It was too busy at the airport. There were families pushing to and fro, dragging their overexcited children, mingled with bored, irritated looking businessmen who tapped away on their phones as they zigzagged through the crowded corridors. The coffee she had purchased was already lukewarm despite its styrofoam cup; she sipped it anyway, feeling the need to occupy her hands or else they might begin to shake.

Because she was a coward.

Earlier that morning, she’d slipped into the bathroom to call a cab; waiting until he was in a deep sleep (she knew he was when his breathing became ragged and he turned to lie on his stomach. He did the same thing every night). 

It had only taken a few minutes to gather her belongings, thankful that she had little to begin with. In the darkness it was a little tricky, so she had opened the Venetian blinds to let in a little of the moonlight. Part way, she paused. The blanket had slipped down his back and hugged his hips. His hands were hidden under the pillow as his chest softly rose and fell. A sudden surge of pain hit her gut. She didn't want this - didn't want to leave him. A desire to slide onto the bed and wrap her arms around him overwhelmed her for a moment.

But she didn’t because, deep down, she knew she had made the right decision that evening when lying beside him, lost in insomnia, watching the minutes tick by on the bedside clock.

In his defense, Killian hadn't seemed phased by the confrontation with Neal. In fact, once inside the apartment he had pulled her to him and hugged her tight against his body. He had smelled vaguely of sweat and laundry detergent. It was oddly comforting. It had been so long since someone had held her like that with no expectation of something more. She'd surprised herself when she hadn't cried. She had wanted to.

And it wasn't because she was upset - not really, anyway. Seeing Neal again had shaken her, she couldn't deny that. But she wasn't worried for herself. Instead she was worried about Killian. Did he realize all the baggage she carried? Not just the ex who turned up at his door unexpectedly, but the years of pain and upset that she had endured, and - God - it wasn't fair to inflict that on anyone else, was it? She was a time bomb waiting to explode and what had happened that night was the first tick.

Watching him punch Neal had been almost like she had received her own fist to the gut. Killian shouldn’t have to do that, she didn’t want him to have to. It was almost as if time was in rewind, and all the nice, tender moments they had shared in the past month or so were now somehow tainted because she had put him in that position. Then it had dawned on her, as she had shut the door and let him take her in his arms, that she would never be truly free of her youth.

He didn't deserve this, she had decided as she had lain awake that night. Oh, she wanted to stay. Oh God, she wanted to. The thought that she wouldn't hear his voice again or feel his fingers running over her skin was almost too much to bear-

But it didn't stop her from slipping out of the apartment and pressing the button for the elevator. Because she didn't deserve him and he didn't deserve to be on the receiving end of the mess she had made of her life.

The journey to Newark had taken nearly an hour. She'd silently thanked herself for having enough dollars in her purse as she paid the cabbie and pulled her roll-on towards the check in desks. She looked at the flat screens displaying the departures. At first, she was blinded by the numbers and letters as they flashed in front of her in large yellow letters.

Where to go?

Really, she could go anywhere. It wasn't like she had a reason to pick a particular destination. But then 'Seattle' had flashed up - there was a flight in two hours. Suddenly, she wanted to see Ruby. She wanted a coffee at their usual spot. She wanted to walk along the harbor and take in the Pacific air (it seemed sweeter, somehow, than the Atlantic). Locating the Delta desk and pulling out her one remaining credit card - the one for emergencies - she bought a ticket.

///

"Hello?"

It was only when the groggy voice answered the phone that she kicked herself, of course it was still four a.m. on the West coast.

"Ruby?" she whispered.

"Emma?"

"Hey," she sighed, lying back against the wall in the one quiet spot of the terminal she had been able to find. "How are you?"

"Tired," her friend grumbled, "Why are you calling me when it's still dark out?"

Emma paused and took a deep breath, "I need a ride."

Ruby let out a small laugh, "Wrong coast babe, get that hot guy of yours to help you out. Hey - are you drunk?"

The playful tone in her voice made Emma's stomach clench. She paused a second.

"Wait - why are you calling me?"

"I'm coming home. This morning."

On the other end of the line she heard her friend take in a deep mouthful of air. "What happened?"

"Nothing," she lied, watching the screen as her gate finally appeared. "Look, my flight is boarding. Can you pick me up? I'll be there in six hours."

"Emma - what has happened?"

She ignored the question. "Can you?"

"You know I'll be there. But I expect some explanation. What's your flight number?"

She reeled off the combination of letters and numbers before pressing the end call button.

///

The seats were small and the cabin felt claustrophobic; between the dry, recycled air and endless drone of the engines Emma felt tense and on edge. When they finally landed she made a dash for the exit, feeling her irritation grow as the people ahead of her seemed to move in slow motion as they gathered their belongings.

Finally she was at the sliding glass doors that led into the arrivals hall. She pulled her bag behind her, clutching her purse to her shoulder, her legs shaking a little as she realized that she had actually done it.

She’d ran away from him. From  _them_. Biting her lip, she searched the small crowd.

Emma spotted Ruby and tried to give her a smile. But raising the edges of her lips seemed too difficult a task and instead her chin trembled and her brows pressed together.

“Hey,” Ruby whispered as she pulled her into her arms. When she felt the other woman’s embrace - that’s when the first tears fell.

They didn’t stop until they had been in the car for ten minutes. Emma had quietly sobbed onto her shoulder in the arrivals hall until Ruby had taken out a Kleenex and led her, blurry eyed, to the parking lot. They hadn’t spoken at first, waiting until Emma’s soft sobs lessened and the flow of tears stopped.

Ruby had looked at her and given her a wink, before pulling the car into a drive through Coffee Cabana and ordering two large skinny lattes - Emma’s favorite. They drove a little further, towards a small park that overlooked the ocean. There, Ruby parked and the two sipped on their drinks.

“So,” Ruby sighed.

Sniffing, Emma let out a small, sad laugh, “Yeah…”

They stared a few more minutes at the grey water ahead; the sky was the same color and in the distance the two merged almost seamlessly.

“What happened?”

Shifting in her seat, Emma popped the lid from her cup and stirred in an extra sugar - buying herself an extra few seconds to think.

“It wasn’t going to work.”

Ruby met her eyes in the rear view mirror, “So that’s why you have been crying for almost the past hour?”

The words sounded a little harsh. Ruby was never one to beat around the bush.

 I…” Emma began lamely, pressing one heel of her boots against the toe of the other, squirming like a child who had been caught telling a lie. “I’m no good for him, Ruby.” She took another sip, “I tried, but I’m bad news and he doesn’t deserve-“

“I take it he had no say in this decision?”

Emma met her eyes again and blushed a little. “No. I just left.”

“Emma…” Ruby sighed once more, shaking her head. “Look, I know we aren’t that close-“

The blonde’s hand slipped over the center console and touched her friend’s knee, “You’re the closest friend I have, Ruby.”

Ruby gave her a smile and placed her hand over Emma’s. “Look, I don’t have the right to tell you what to do, but can you at least tell me why? You had seemed so happy and excited…” Her fingers tightened, “And I care about you - you know?”

“Thank you,” Emma replied, “For caring, I mean. I don’t have too many people who do that.”

She shifted in her seat so the two women could sit face to face, “I  _was_  happy and excited. He’s great. Killian’s-“ she sighed deeply, “He’s a great guy. Not perfect, but that’s what I like about him.”

“So why are you sitting in my car drinking cold coffee instead of thousands of miles away, with him?"

“I ran into someone from my past - what are the chances, huh?” She shrugged softly and drained the rest of her latte, “And it all got messy and I realized that I’m bad news. I’ve made such a fuck up of my life so far, I’ll never be able to escape it and no one deserves to get caught up in my mistakes.”

“Emma…”

“No, don’t. I tried Ruby, I really did. But I don’t want to hurt him.”

“Won’t he be hurt when he realizes you have gone? I mean, did you leave him a note or something?”

“No. No note. And I’m going to change my number today. It’s better this way, you know? He can forget about me. Eventually.”

“And you’re just going to forget about him?” Ruby asked with raised brows.

Emma turned and looked out the window. The ocean was becoming unsettled and whipping up into white swells that indicated an incoming storm. “Yeah. Eventually.”

///

An hour later, she was settled in their apartment. The sofa wasn’t the most luxurious of beds but she’d slept on much worse.

“You can stay as long as you like, Em. Victor won’t mind,” Ruby called from the kitchen. Emma rifled through her bag as her friend returned with two glasses of lemonade and a bowl of potato chips. “I figured a little comfort food would help.”

“Thanks,” Emma replied, taking a potato chip and crunching it between her teeth. Her other hand finally grabbed her phone. After wiping her fingers on her sweater, she pried off the back and pulled out the sim card.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t wanna turn it on. I’m gonna throw this away and get a new one.”

“Don’t you wanna talk to him at least once?”

The lemonade was cool and caught in her throat when she took a drink. She choked a little, her eyes lightly watering as she lied, “No. I don’t.”

Ruby gave her a wary look and she knew her friend did not believe her. Ignoring her, Emma pulled a clean t-shirt from her bag and quickly changed, not worried about covering her body - it wasn’t like a thousand people hadn't seen her half naked (or worse) before. “What’s your plan then?”

“I’m gonna see if I can get one or two of my jobs back. Save up some money for a deposit on a place - I promise I’ll be out of your hair really quickly-“

Waving her hand dismissively, Ruby interrupted, “Take your time. No rush.”

“Well, there is no time like the present. That flight just about cleaned me out. Can I borrow your car this afternoon?”

“Of course-“

Standing, Ruby walked over to the table where she had left her keys, “Here. Do you need money or-“

“No,” Emma shook her head, wrapping her fingers around the keys, “I’ll be a couple of hours?”

“Sure,” Ruby nodded giving her small smile, “I’ll be home. Just ring the buzzer.”

///

Emma had made it into the car before the tears had begun again. God, she had never taken herself for that kind of girl, but for some reason today she couldn’t stop crying. A misery had settled over her, like a small, dark cloud.

She had done the right thing. She had. Yes.

Repeating these words over in her head, she had driven out of the parking lot, sniffing back fresh waves of sadness whilst simultaneously chastising herself for her foolishness.

It was never going to work. She had known that, from the first spark - the first moment - that had passed between the two. But she had been selfish and naive, so if she was hurting it was her fault. She deserved it.

Emma Swan was not worthy of being happy. Life had told her that time and time again.

So what now? A job, money, an apartment. Start to try and save (again). Maybe she could move down the coast - a little warm weather sounded nice. Or even farther south. She could move to California maybe, somewhere with less rain and little chance of a harsh winter.

Gripping the steering wheel, she managed to halt the tears, replacing them with a single minded determination. She would get over his. She would move on. Alone.

She’d get over him. Eventually.

With a sigh, she pulled off the highway at exit 35. The sky was already dimming - darkness nipping in early because of the stormy weather. Parking, she grabbed her purse and slammed the car door. Looking up, she sighed at the sight of the all too familiar sign.

If she needed money quickly, this was the only way to do it. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she took quick strides and walked into the The Velvet Rope.

///

“Roxy!”

The place hadn’t really opened yet for the night. Over by the bar, Al was sat knocking back his usual rum and Coke as the bar staff began to set up.

“Hey Al,” Emma sighed, “How you doing?”

“How am I doing? Where the hell have you been? I’ve had at least two dozen customers asking for you the past month.”

“Sorry,” she shrugged, taking the seat next to him. “I had things to deal with.”

Al was at least fifty, but dressed like he was more than a decade younger, in too tight jeans and colorful shirts that he tucked into his ornately buckled belt. On his head he wore a chocolate brown toupee which he never quite managed to make sit right. He was okay, as far as bosses went. At least he never tried to grope her.

“Drink?” he asked and she nodded. The bartender poured another measure of rum topped up with Coke. Emma took it and settled her bag on the bar. “So I take it you're not here for a social visit.”

“Sadly no. I need my job back.”

Al licked his lips and softly clucked his tongue, “I don’t know Rox, I need reliable staff. We are the premiere men’s club in the area-“

“Please,” she asked, feeling her heart sink as she realized what she was doing. “I’m in a pinch.”

Looking her up and down, Al shifted a bit closer, “I tell you what, come in tomorrow, you can have a trial, things work out and you can have your job back.”

“Thanks Al,” she smiled, feeling an odd kind of relief.

Al continued to talk at her, she nodded and smiled in the right places. She looked around the room as she did so - the velvet lined booths, the small, glittering black stage and the glossy wooden floor. She thought she had left this all behind. God, she’d actually imagined she could be someone else - not the girl who takes off her clothes for money. But it was easy money and she was desperate, so she finished her drink and promised to be there the next night.

///

She’d made it back to Ruby’s just before Victor. Inside, she had hidden the Lila’s Lingerie bag in her suitcase, hoping Ruby wouldn’t find it. She knew she would get a lecture if she found out she had gone back to Al to ask for her job.

Dropping the keys on the table where they had been before, she noticed that the little sim card she had left on the coffee table was missing. Ruby must have put it in the trash, she thought briefly.

“Honey, I’m home!”

Emma turned and saw the smiling, but confused face of Victor.

“Why, babe, you've changed an awful lot!”

Emma started to laugh. Ruby appeared from her bedroom, running a brush through her hair.

“Guess who’s coming to stay for a little while?”

“Emma - wait, I thought you had moved out of state-“

To her left, she saw her friend shaking her head vigorously. Victor nodded his head slightly, before stepping forward and wrapping Emma in a hug. “Sharing a house with two beautiful women, how did I get so lucky?”

She let him hug her for a moment. It felt nice.

///

That night she was so cold. Three blankets weren’t enough. She missed Killian's body heat - his arm around her waist and breath on the back of her neck. 

She missed him.


	15. Begin Again

**Thank you to my wonderful beta Ztofan and to everyone who has read, followed, left kudos and reviewed! You feed my muse!**

The dressing room was exactly as she had left it. The same, slightly musty tang lingered in the air. The tap in the washroom still dripped incessantly. There was that worn spot in the carpet beside the door where she always caught her heels.

Stepping inside had felt like falling back in time. This world seemed so far away from the life she had lived with Killian; however brief that was. It brought with it the sense of shame and desperation that had first driven her to this place.

The few girls she recognized gave her small smiles. On autopilot, she walked to her usual section of the dressing table and flicked the switch below it that sent the lights around the mirror flickering to life: half of them even worked. 

She pulled her bag from her shoulder and dropped it onto the floor then she sat. Watching her reflection, she gave herself a sad smile.

“Welcome home,” she told herself.

///

The bra was a bit too big, the panties a bit too small. At least she had been able to swipe a pair of Ruby’s towering heels so at least something she was wearing was slightly comfortable. She tugged on the sheer red slip she had purchased; it was translucent enough to show the lacy lingerie, but not so much that she felt completely exposed.

She had never felt self-conscious before. It hadn’t bothered her that the customers talked to her breasts or stared at her ass as she walked by. Even when she was almost naked, pressed up against the body of a drunken man with wandering hands, she hadn’t really cared. It was work, after all. Not that different from pulling on a uniform and working behind the counter at Wendy’s. Well, except her uniform was her body, and this paid at lot better (most of the time).

But today, every look she received made something in her stomach tighten. Each step across the floor was hesitant, not confident. She found herself licking her lips repeatedly until they felt dry.

Perhaps this was a mistake. Doubt began to fill her mind. She’d been so sure that falling back into old routines would push him from her mind quickly, that focusing on finding money and just living would occupy her enough that she would stop thinking about him.

Because he was always there, in the back of her mind. His face. His smile. His voice, saying her name. It was a strange kind of torment. Even when she had slept the night before, she had dreamt of him. 

Suddenly, her chest felt tight, her heart began to race. A sick feeling rose in her throat. The edges of her vision began to darken.

Blindly, she turned and stalked back towards the door that led to the dressing room. Air. She needed some air. Perhaps she hadn’t eaten enough today. Perhaps-

She was stopped in her tracks when her body collided with another. She stepped back to apologize.

“Killian?” she blurted out, her mouth working quicker than her mind when she realized it was him.

“Emma,” he replied in a clipped tone.

Dazed, she stood for a second, wavering on her six inch platform heels. It was almost surreal: she had just been thinking of him and then he was there, in the flesh. Solid and real, if slightly rumpled around the edges. For a moment, she forgot everything. She wanted to smile-

Then instinct kicked in.

“Why are you here?” she hissed, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a dark corner beside the stage. He looked at her carefully - that same handsome face with its sky blue eyes - before sighing lightly and biting on his lip.

“You know? I’m not even sure anymore.” Emma took a breath, about to respond, when he started to shake his head, slowly running his fingers through his dark hair.

“Killian-“ she began, taking a step closer to him before he let out a soft laugh and fixed his eyes upon her.

“Emma Swan, do you ever think of anyone but yourself?”

Taken aback, her mouth dropped open and she began to blink rapidly. “What-“

He didn’t let her reply.  Instead he rolled back his head. She noticed his stubble was a little longer than usual. The dim light also highlighted the dark shadows beneath his eyes. “You walked out, in the middle of the night - Emma, I had no idea where you were. Do you know how worried I was?”

She felt her cheeks begin to burn.

“Your phone was turned off - Christ, Emma - I had no idea what had happened. For all I knew you had gone out and gotten hit by a car or something-“

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and curved his shoulders inward. Emma felt like she had been hit in the stomach - the air seemed to have been taken from her lungs. For the longest moment she just stared at him. Carefully, he avoided catching her eye.

“I hadn’t thought you could be that selfish.”

The little air she had left in her lungs seeped out at his words.

“You’re better off without me,” she whispered.

“Hmm,” he grunted, sticking his tongue into his cheek. There seemed to be something simmering below the surface inside of him.

“It’s true,” she protested. Suddenly feeling self-conscious in her sheer slip, she wrapped her arms around her chest.

“And I have no say in that decision? I mean, it affects me.” His words were louder now, angry almost. A little crease had formed between his brows. She wanted to reach out and touch his arm and soothe him. Instead she cowered away from him, scared if she touched him again she would never let go.

Her fingers began to toy with the synthetic material; gathering it, her nails digging in.

“What do you want me to say, Killian? That I’m sorry? Well, I am. You wasted your time on me. Haven’t you realized I bring nothing but trouble? Christ, I move thousands of miles away and the shit still follows me. Fucking Neal.”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes, “We all have a past, love. But there comes a point where you just have to say ‘fuck it’ and get on with your life.” He glanced at her, eyes hooded, lips slightly parted, “You know, this was a mistake. A big, fucking mistake. I’m sorry I bothered you.”

Open mouthed, Emma watched as he started to walk away. All of a sudden, a searing pain tore into her stomach. She knew if she didn’t try to stop him, it would get worse. The thought of him leaving was immediately painful, suffocating and felt just plain wrong- it made her skin crawl, she was feeling his sudden movement to leave her on a visceral level.

“No!” she cried, her fingers wrapping around the back of the collar of his shirt until he swung around. For a moment, his eyes brightened, until they took on the same dark look of a minute earlier.

“So now you want to talk?” he taunted. It hurt. The words dug into her like sharp knives. That he thought so ill of her was too much to bear.

Not responding, she grabbed his arm and tugged him towards the private rooms - the place she had taken him the night they had first met. It was still early, and she saw from the three lights above the exit that all were available. He didn’t put up much resistance. In a few seconds, she had pushed him inside a small, velvet lined room and slid the lock to occupied.

Slowly, she turned to face him. He sat, his elbows on his knees, face in his hands.

“Why are you here?” She repeated her earlier question. “How did you know where to find me?”

The light in the room had an orange tinge. It enhanced the contrast between his light skin and dark hair. It was almost as if he had been reduced to a facsimile of himself - devoid of natural color.

He seemed to be ignoring her at first, taking deep breaths, staring at the floor. Finally, he lifted his head, a cool, defiant look in his eyes.

“I found you because you seem to have at least one friend here who cares about you. Ruby. She found your SIM card and called me.”

“Oh,” she sighed.

“I took the first flight I could. Ruby didn’t know where you were tonight so I took a punt. I was hoping I’d be wrong.”

Was he disappointed? It hurt more than she thought possible - she cared what he thought of her, more than she wanted to admit.

“And do you really need to ask  _why_ , Emma? Really?” The bitter twinge to his words was still there. She flinched.

“Well, I-“ Her words were shaky this time.

He gave her a look. It was intense, dark. She felt exposed - but not in a physical sense. He seemed to be looking into her, looking for something…

“You love me.”

It wasn’t a question. Finally, she realized what she had pushed away for so long. He had fallen in love with her. Somehow.

“For whatever good it has done me,” he admitted.

Heart still racing, she lay back against the soft, fabric covered wall. Her breathing became quicker. The spotlights in the ceiling seemed to dance before her eyes.

“But you can’t,” she muttered. “I’m trouble - really, I mean, my whole life is just a mess and it always will be, and-“

She was babbling. Even as the words left her mouth she felt all their foolishness. Killian was staring at her, his lower jaw rocking from side to side.

“I didn’t care about any of that. I only cared about you.”

_Didn’t._

_Cared_. 

Past tense.

“Why the hell do you think I asked you to come to New York? Do you think I pick up women on a regular basis and ask them to move in with me?”

He was getting louder again. Her heart was thudding heavily, each beat reverberating towards her extremities.

“It was so damn hard, Emma. You know, opening myself up - do you get that?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, nodding.

She did. For so long, she had never even considered opening herself up to a man again. The hurt of Neal’s betrayal was too deep, too ingrained in her very being, that it kept her hidden within her own shell, her own emotional armor.

“But I met you and, God, you got under my skin.”

She hitched her breath. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes. She felt like she was sinking into the wall, becoming as dark as it was, melting almost with every declaration he made.

He rose and stood in front of her. He was searching her eyes again - what was he looking for-?

“I thought we could be something; have a real future…”

His hand rose as if to cup her face. Instinctively, she turned her cheek, seeking the warmth of his touch and the simple pleasure of his skin on hers. But he stopped just short, his hand recoiling and fingers balling into a fist.

A tear fell.

“What kind of future?” she asked, the tiniest amount of hope still in her voice.

The smile at the edges of his lips made her heart a little lighter.

“You know, normal things. Like dinners and movies and holing up in bed for a weekend just because we can-“

“That sounds nice,” she whispered.

“And if we both wanted it, maybe even a kid or two. Maybe you could have made an honest man out of me.”

His words dripped with pain. She reached her hand out and grasped his. He started, each breath he took becoming shakier than the last.

“You know, I’ve never known what a happy ending was. My life has been about survival and just getting through and only thinking of myself-“ the words tumbled out in a rapid babble.

“It doesn’t have to be. And it wasn’t a happy ending I was looking for, love. It was a happy beginning.”

Her unoccupied hand reached up and began to toy with the crumpled collar of his shirt. It wasn’t ironed. That wasn’t like it.

“I don’t know what one of those looks like either,” she confessed.

“Neither do I,” he sighed, “But I was willing to try.”

His words hung between them, thick with meaning and laced with a string of still held hope.

And then it hit her - they were so alike. More attune to each other than she had ever thought possible. Both had been hurt, their experiences had shaped them both, but within each other they had found a kindred soul. But instead of embracing that, Emma had run. Too scared to try, she had hidden behind old habits and a stubborn refusal to try and move on.

Closing her eyes, she felt the moisture form between her lids. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Killian let out a heavy sigh. “Come here,” he murmured, wrapping and arm around her waist and drawing her close. He let her press her face against his chest. He felt so warm and safe and comfortable. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she went on, interlacing her fingers with his, “I really thought that this was the best thing for you - I left for you, not because of you-“

“How can you think that us being apart was a good thing?” He tilted up her chin, “I love you Emma. You are the first person who has made me feel like this in a long time.”

Emma’s voice shook, “I feel the same way.” She sniffed, blinking back more tears, “I just - I just-“

She couldn’t think straight. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings. But she knew she had made a mistake. There, in the dark room, listening to each other breathe, soaking in his warmth, she had never felt so foolish.

Killian was stroking her hair in a soothing gesture. “It’s okay, I understand-“ He pulled back until there was a small gap between their bodies, “And I understand that this is too hard and maybe shouldn’t have come here-“

It was then she realized his eyes were damp too, glistening with moisture in the amber light. Her heart hurt.

“Shhhh,” she hushed, placing a finger on his shaking lips. 

The look of hope that crossed his face was glorious. The faint indication that she wanted to undo her rash decision lifting away the sadness and tension in his features in an instant.

“Killian, can we try again?”

She watched him swallow and then nod.

“I can’t promise things will be perfect but-“

“Perfect is overrated,” he interrupted.

“ _But_ ,” she continued, “I promise to try.”

When he didn’t respond, her breath caught in her throat. So she did what instinct told her, reached her lips to his and gave him a kiss.

He melted into her, arms and hands moulding against and caressing her body, cocooning her in his warmth as she nipped at his lips, brushing her tongue against his while she tilted her head and deepened the action. Fingers began to explore faces and hair and bodies. She leaned into Killian, letting her body press against his, putting her weight onto him until he stumbled a few steps and they were backed against the wall.

Emma splayed her fingers up from his neck, into the hair at the base of his scalp as she peeled her lips away. That familiar heat in her gut was rising. Being apart for only a couple of days had been too long. She needed him to touch her, take her-

She slid her palms around to his chest and then lower, resting on his belt as she watched his reaction. He didn’t flinch, didn’t speak - instead he kept his eyes fixed on hers.

“You don’t get how special you are, do you?”

Blinking back a tear, Emma whispered, “Special?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, his own fingers entwining themselves in the thin straps of her slip. “You try and hide it, but there is this light inside of you.” In an achingly slow action, he started to drags the straps down her arms, his fingernails leaving goose bumps in their wake, her slip quickly lying gathered around her waist. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Let me love you Emma,” he whispered.

“Yes,” she replied, barely audibly.

She felt his lips press against her collar bone. “What was that?”

“Yes,” she said louder, her body paralyzed, his lips now on her neck, trailing behind her ear. Her knees began to shake.

“Killian,” she moaned.

With a grunt, he dipped down and cupped her ass, pulling her legs around him and turning to press her back against the wall. His hips holding her in place, in a second he had torn away the remains of her slip and his hands were tugging down the straps and cups of her bra before his mouth began to feast on the flesh.

And as he moved over her and she ran her fingers through his hair, she knew this wasn’t just about sex between them. She needed him, on a basic level that she had never thought she would experience again after Neal. The way he touched her - eagerly, reverently, lovingly - told her he felt the same. They were of one mind.

Waking herself from her introspective gaze, she cried out as his mouth tugged on a nipple, sucking and teasing it with the tip of his tongue. She reached back and tugged on the clasp of her bra, letting it fall away as she shifted her hips until she could feel his erection pressing against her.

“Killian,” she moaned again, rolling her lips a little, looking for that little bit of friction, “Killian-“

Suddenly, he released her. His mouth was on hers again and he was unfastening his belt. Her hands went to help, flicking open the buttons of his fly until she could slip into his boxer briefs and wrap around his heat.

“Oh,” she sighed, kneading his hard, heavy length, enjoying the little groans he let out between his kisses. She stroked her finger over his tip and he flinched before intensifying his kiss and slipping his hand between her thighs and pushing her panties to one side.

Rolling her hips, his fingers slipped easily inside her, his thumb rubbing her clit, the heat in her stomach building unbearably, so quickly she was caught off guard. 

“Now,” she begged, digging her free hand into his waist, “Please.”

Then somehow he was holding her up again, his hips pushing forward, lining up his erection against her entrance, waiting that teasing second until she met his eye before he let her body drop just enough until he breached her.

“God, Emma-“

His shaking voice sent her stomach into somersaults. Pressing his fingers tighter into her ass, he slowly let her fall onto him until she could go no further and he grunted in satisfaction. They settled for a moment. Emma adjusting to him, flexing her muscles while his eyelids fluttered.

“I love you.”

His words were accompanied by a slow, excruciatingly delightful sensation as he backed up his hips and slipped out of her, only to rock back fluidly. Each drag and tug of his length was heaven, the twin sensations of him and the expression on his face as he moved inside her, breaking her quickly.

Gradually, he began to pick up a pace, whispering again, “I love you.”

The wall was digging into her back. Her feet felt numb from the position in which he held her. The room was stiflingly hot. But all she could feel, all she cared about, was the sensations he was drawing from her - both body and soul.

Quicker and faster and harder-

“I love you, Emma Swan.”

His voice was strained now, she watched him clench his jaw as the world became hazy.

“Let me love you.”

The tension was too much. Her body was on fire, her mind abuzz. She slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, bringing him deeper inside of her and rocking her hips and finding that delicious friction she so badly needed against her clit.

All rhythm and method was forgotten as they became lost in each other. Her peak came about before she was ready, crashing around her and dragging him along as he came to a stuttering, wordless halt, breathing heavily against her shoulder as she pressed damp kisses on his cheek.

“I love you too,” she whispered as coolness settled over her body, dousing the flames of passion and replacing them with a clearheaded satisfaction and certainty. She needed him. And he needed her.


	16. Epilogue

**The last chapter.**

_Hey Ruby!_

_I’m so sorry I’ve taken so long to reply, been kinda crazy over here, you know?_

_Like you asked, I’ve attached our flight details to this email. Please tell Victor I really appreciate the ride! Killian has arranged for us to stay at the same apartment complex he always uses for business, until we get our new place furnished and up and running._

_Everything has been so crazy since we decided to move back to Seattle- I can’t believe it was only a month ago and in a few days we’ll be moving. Killian has decided to look into opening a gallery somewhere around the city. I think it will be good for him; his clients here are okay but I worry, you know?_

“Hey Em, you ready?”

Emma twisted to look behind her from where she was sitting with the laptop on the couch. She smiled when she saw Killian - dressed in a charcoal grey suit with his crisp, white shirt open at the neck.

“Just e-mailing Ruby.”

“Okay,” he nodded, shifting his hands into his pockets, “Just let me know when you’re done.”

“‘’Kay,” she whispered, reaching up to take his offered kiss, feeling a warm, buzzing sensation in her stomach when their lips met.

_We’re going out for dinner, so I’ll have to go now. I’ll give you a call on Wednesday when we are at the airport._

_Love,_

_Emma_

_P.S.- I know I’ve said this before, but I’ll never forget what you did for me and Killian. You’re an amazing friend._

Closing the lid of the computer, Emma stood and straightened her red silk dress.

She walked around to the kitchen. Killian stood near the countertop, his phone in one hand, a glass of water in the other. Her heart swelled a little as she watched him. He was hers, really. He wanted her, loved her-

It was still such an unfamiliar feeling.

“Hey handsome,” she teased, walking over and wrapping her arms around his waist, hitching up her chin so it rested on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” he replied, whipping around to kiss her on the tip of her nose and pulling her close. “Wanna go?”

“Mmm hmm,” she nodded, breathing in his clean, masculine smell - a mixture of subtle cologne and soap that she found so addictive.

Neither made a move.

“Are you happy?” she asked, looking up into his hypnotic blue eyes.

“Blissfully,” he murmured, punctuating his reply with a soft kiss - this time on her lips - which made her feel like her body was melting.

“So you made the right decision, then?”

“Did you?” he quipped with a laugh. She laughed a little too, before his expression became serious.

“Yes, Emma, I made a lot of right decisions. Feeling lonely and deciding to get drunk at a club meant I met you. Asking you to come home with me meant I got to get to know you. Inviting you to New York allowed me see another side to Emma Swan. And following you to the other side of the country let me know you loved me too.”

She flushed a little. Still overwhelmed by how much he felt for her.

“I’m glad you did all those things. I don’t think I deserved it, but I’m glad-“

“Emma-“ he began in a cautionary tone.

“I just mean,” she clarified, “That I wasn’t exactly the easiest person to be around when we met.”

Raising his brows, he rolled his eyes, “Well, it’s a good thing you have other charms then.”

“Hey!” she cried, playfully punching his arm. He caught her fist and stared into her eyes for a second. Her breath caught as she watched his brow furrow.

A silent tension filled the air between them. Emma swallowed, searching his face, heart thudding.

Slowly, quietly, she held her breath as he released her and took hold of her hand. He seemed deep in thought. The seconds ticked by like infinite moments.

“Emma,” he whispered. She watched him reach into his pocket before slowly slipping to one knee.

She gasped.

“I’d planned on doing this later. In the restaurant, or maybe we’d take a walk in the park and find somewhere romantic but-“ his hand came out of his pocket, in it a small, black velvet box.

“Will you marry me?” he asked. Simple. To the point. Honest.

At first she struggled to reply. The burn of tears played at the corner of her eyes. Her breath became shaky.

“Yes,” she whispered. She watched, mesmerized, as he flicked open the lid with his thumb.  Inside was a ring set with a deep blue stone hugged by small diamonds.

He picked it from its velvet bed. Looking from the ring, to her, he raised his brows. She nodded, holding out her hand and letting him slide the silvery band onto her finger. It felt strange. The finger was unaccustomed to jewelry. For a second she just looked at it.

“It’s beautiful,” she sighed.

“Not beautiful enough,’ he replied before kissing her hand and standing. “So I guess dinner has become a celebratory occasion?”

“I guess,” she smiled, biting her lip. “Hey, do you think we could push back the reservation a little?”

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged, “Why-“

He didn’t get to finish. She launched forward, pulling him into a searing kiss, her fingers pressing through his hair. He groaned into her mouth and she felt that thrilling spark in her gut.

Breathing heavily, she stopped for a moment. “Maybe we can start the celebration here?”

The smile he gave her, caught her breath.

“Aye,” he whispered, reaching down towards her mouth again, “That’s a fine idea.”

_The End_

**If you have enjoyed this story and review or a message (on here or Tumblr) would be really appreciated.**


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